From The Ashes
by angelofnight
Summary: "From The Ashes" is the new name of "A Second Chance" It is the exact same sequel to "Miri Kom" I have been working on for over a year now. Erik and Arabella are together ... nothing can keep them apart ... but life will never be perfect for two damaged people from such different worlds.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: This is experimental. If you enjoy this and wish to read it as a full story, then please let me hear from you (review, people! LOL!) Make no mistake, it's unlikely that I will post anything more for some time – I am currently working on another project with someone else on something non-POTO related; but I wrote this before that ever came up… and I want to know if it will be received AT ALL well when I am finally ready and have a concrete plot. There may come a chapter two very soon, but please don't expect a chapter three any time in the imminent future… I can only handle so many works at a time. But I would love the feedback.

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He had never been in so much pain before… or cared so little about his own life or death. He had never been in a position that left him longing for life to simply _hurry up and end_. His entire world was agony… and all because _**she**_ was gone.

 _Christine_ …

He saw it in his head… over and over and over… so strong in his mind that it was like having the most vivid of hallucinations. It didn't merely _haunt_ him – it _**hounded**_ him. She had chosen The Boy… and now they were somewhere in a brilliant world of sunlight and color that he knew very little about. They were preparing for a life of happiness that he could only dream of.

 _Even the happiest moments in my life have always been tainted by something dark_ …

He knew Christine was better off with the handsome, young, and very wealthy Vicomte de Chagney. The man could give her everything her heart desired… and in his beauty he would be able to give her all the things that Erik _never_ could. Erik had never been able to give _any_ woman that simple gift… the kind of freedom only plain or beautiful faces could provide.

He'd lost track of the days since she left… but based on his more regular eating habits having emptied all his private stores, he supposed it had to have been at least a month. He'd been eating less and less… slowly becoming more and more unaware – or at least _uncaring_ – of the pains in his stomach that normally drove him to seek nourishment.

All he had left in the entire household was liquor, sugar, and tea. The lemons had long since rotted, and he'd been forced to dispose of them in the lake before he started losing his strength. As his rarely-there appetite decreased with his despair, he spent more and more time in the Louise-Phillipe room; stroking his fingertips across the sacred items in what had become: the Shrine of Christine.

Now he could barely do more than roll around the floor; aware that his death was coming for him. It had been days since he'd taken in a single morsel of food or liquid. Honestly; if the fires hadn't burned out long ago, he probably would have died sooner. The temperatures in his house had plummeted without the warmth of his hearth, and the cold he could barely feel - or care about - seemed determined to make his agony last. All he could do was curl into a ball on the floor. He could not bring himself to commit the grave sin of crawling into Christine's bed… the one that had also once been his mothers'. It would have been poetic, to die in the bed where he'd been born… but he couldn't bring himself to do it… He could have done it no more than he could have brought himself to re-enter his own bedroom and close the lid of his coffin over his own head. Some things… no matter how he craved death… were simply too morbid to condone thinking about or acting on.

At least he'd left the front door ajar, so that Ayesha still had a safe and dry place to live. He'd heard her outside the door to the Louise-Phillipe room many times, scratching at the wood and yowling in her stubborn, determined way to be let in. He hadn't the heart to as much as look at her now; knowing that she would be fully capable of forgetting his very existence within a few days. Her home here would be safe and warm and dry… and probably clean enough during the rest of her days. She wasn't particularly young by cat standards, after all. It would take months or years for the proper decay of his home to settle in and make the place as depressing as the rest of the cellars. As guilty as he felt for ignoring her or abandoning her; he knew just how fiercely independent and capable the little minx was.

With the thought that death couldn't _possibly_ be far away, he drifted for a time with his eyes closed. After a length that was impossible to measure; he felt his body roll itself onto its back as though releasing all the energy it had taken thus far to keep himself huddled up… sighing in relief as some of those muscles let go. For the briefest of seconds, it was a kind of bliss that eclipsed his mental and emotional agony…

Then the darkness swelled into him once more like a slowly incoming tide.

He was startled awake by the feel of something wet on his bar face.

 _Rain...?_

Confused, Erik's weakened body could do no more than flinch slightly at the unexpected sensation. With a soft guttural noise, he forced his eyelids open little more than a crack and saw the silhouette of someone with long hair bent over him. Considering how long ago he'd lit the final candle of his life, the light was very low and probably was going to go out any minute… but the candle _had_ been perfectly fresh.

How had he not heard the bedroom door opening? Why hadn't there been an alarm? He winced, almost closing his eyes and falling asleep again in his weariness and weakness. Another pattering of liquid splattered his face, and he realized that the person leaning over him was _crying_. _That_ was the unexplained moisture that had surprised him into nearly full consciousness. Still confused; but with an instinctive surge of hope, he turned his head slightly to realize there was something under his head; and that his body was now at a slight incline…

"Chris… tine…?" he asked uncertainly; his voice hoarse from lack of use and thirst. Although his arm trembled badly; he reached up to brush his fingers across the face of the silhouette above him. His hand caught the hair dangling down on either side of the female face (he had rarely seen a _man_ with such hair) and was only further confused by how dark the strands were.

 _Christine has_ blonde _hair…_

The figure leaning over him sucked in a startled breath when his fingers made contact with her face, and she jerked back a little so that the candlelight briefly caught the edges of her face through the curtain of dark hair. Both of her hands – which had been resting on his shoulders, apparently – lifted as though to push his seeking fingers away. But then they froze; not following through with the action. One hand grasped his wrist instead; while the other seemed to consider returning to its light perch near his neck.

The candlelight caught on a ring on the woman's' left hand, and he focused on it instantly because it was the one hesitating by his shoulder. The angle was all wrong to identify the actual _ring_ … but it did draw his eye to where the light _did_ catch. The way the dim candlelight reflected from the hand ornament could have been from little other than orange and red stones. The color was just too clearly complimented by the tiny fire.

Then, there was her actual hand. The skin of the woman was dark… Not like the skin of those in Persia or Egypt, perhaps, but dark all the same. She was also wearing a rather form fitting red dress; which hugged what appeared to be soft curves. He wasn't looking at her closely enough as yet to know for sure… but he had a natural eye for such things. Even imminent death couldn't steal such gifts.

"E-Erik?" a soft low voice whispered.

Instantly, his previously calm but confused heart started hammering _painfully_ in his chest.

 _I know that voice!_

It had been literally decades since he'd heard that soft alto voice; so much lower than one would expect from such a young woman. It had always had an alluring huskiness that appealed to him; even though it had absolutely no _musical_ talent whatsoever. It went perfectly with the deep olive toned skin and dark hair that _looked_ black; but was truly a dark brown with hints of impossibly dark red. The voice, the skin, the hair… _it_ _**also**_ all went with the red dress and gold-toned ring he'd barely caught sight of.

" _M-ma belle_?" he managed to breathe out, although it seemed his lungs were incapable of drawing in – or expelling – proper air. They were utterly frozen with disbelieving shock.

 _But that's impossible! She's_ dead! _She had died in front my eyes! I_ buried _her!_

 _ **Arabella**_ …

 _I'm not_ _ **dying**_ _…_ hethough dazedly _. I'm_ _ **dead**_ _._ …

He _had_ to be dead. It was the only possible explanation. Had she come to collect his soul and bring it onward?

But… that made no sense either… Arabella had been much too good of a person… the complete opposite of what he'd become since her death. Why would _she_ be the one to escort him to Hell? But… maybe he wasn't going to Hell? Maybe this was purgatory?

 _Why would_ _ **Arabella**_ _be stuck in limbo_?

"Erik!" Her voice came stronger this time, just as startled as before; but now joined by a sob of some sort. It was strange how she sounded… excited and bewildered. His mind absolutely _spun_ with the struggle to cope with his stark recognition of her. "Erik! You… you _feel_ me? You _**see**_ me…?"

 _A dream_ … he decided suddenly, trying to turn his body and lift it into a crawling position. Nothing about this situation made sense. Arabella was dead… but… in his house? Maybe he _was_ dead. But then… why was he still feeling so weak? Why could he barely move? Slightly bemused by her words - in spite of his own confusion - he found himself giving the ghost of a smile at how she stared at the thin wrist she grasped in her hand. He hadn't managed to pull from that strong but birdlike grasp. He hadn't even succeeded in anything but a roll onto his stomach that left his chin in the valley between her red-clad thighs.

The tears… her hand on his wrist… her lap under his head… her very presence in his house. None of these things had ever happened to him in a dream. He'd never even dreamed of Arabella – at least _vividly_. Usually she was a far-off presence he couldn't reach or make contact with. Considering the years he'd spent composing _Don Juan Triumphant_ , using her given Romani name as to the main character, his dreams of her hadn't actually had anything to do with _her_.

"I'm dreaming…" he murmured in bewilderment; unable to directly answer her as his mind continuing spinning around in circles. Her grasp on his wrist didn't go away; even as he continued trying to push himself onto his hands and knees. His position over her lap was simply _indecent_ now that he was face down over it! "I'm dreaming about you because it's easier than dreaming about _her_."

He could actually feel her flinch under him as he shakily forced himself up onto his palms. He was trying to move to the side so he could see her better… but he wound up nearly toppling _onto_ her. Arabella fell back under his weight; her shoulders shaking the night stand directly behind her and nearly toppling the single candle that remained dimly lit. She gasped, and her arms seemed to instinctively circle his shoulders to catch him. There was no concern for her own predicament in the tumble.

His face barreled into the side of her stomach before she rolled him from her and carefully lowered him back to the floor. Erik moaned, dark blots dancing in his vision. His head was spinning physically as well as mentally now, and his cheeks heated with sheer embarrassment at his gracelessness.

"Real…" he murmured in stunned disbelief, knowing that no dream would ever let him be so clumsy in front of his late wife. Even though she'd known him for almost all his flaws at that time… she'd only ever paid real attention to the grandest parts of him. She'd loved the grace in him. He'd nearly hypnotized her so many times with a mere wave of his hand.

 _His late wife…_

It was the first time he'd thought of Arabella so solidly in _years_. He watched dazedly as she turned to the side and tossed her hair out of her face. He could see her so clearly now, even in the low light. There was no pretending – had it occurred to him – that he was mistaken about her identity.

"Real…" she echoed, staring down at him with enormous caramel colored eyes that shone with the gentle but stubbornly beautiful soul he'd once known so well. Her mouth hung open in astonishment that equaled his. "God… this _is_ real! You can… _I'm_ _here_! _**Here**_ , here!"

Blinking hard, Erik squinted up at her as though he might be able to see through the hallucination he was still half-convinced she simply _had_ to be. In spite of how he'd _said_ it was real… he hadn't meant _true_. Trying to protect himself, he was trying to act as though it was an intense hallucination… but was that _just_ denial? He couldn't wrap his brain around what was happening; or _**why**_.

"Oh god…" she whispered, catching his hand again as it unconsciously reached toward her face. "You're freezing cold, Erik! You're so _weak_!"

He let his body shake once with a harsh laugh his body didn't have the appropriate strength for. She must have noticed how clumsy he was by then – consciously, at least. That… or his hand had been visibly shaking as he impulsively reached for her.

He could recall all the times he'd unconsciously reached his hand out to touch her and had to force his hand back down.

"Yes." He acknowledged bitterly; hating the truth of it.

"You need food." She stated in a half-panicked voice that reminded him of conversation in their past about abusive fathers and spreading infections. "I need to get you something to-"

"No!" he protested in a half-yell that was still painfully hoarse. He could feel his vocal chords straining due to its' recent disuse, and the dryness of his throat. She'd tried to stand, but he'd gripped her hand in his as hard as he could before she could release it.

He didn't understand… but she was _at_ _ **least**_ a perfect distraction from all his recent agonies. As terrible as his torments involving her loss - and what it would do to him when this strange event ended - _anything_ was better than the heartache that had driven him to this slow and painful death. He'd dealt with _this_ grief for so long that he thought it would be manageable.

"No! Don't leave me!"

She dropped back to her knees and leaned over him, her free hand pressing comfortably against his cheek. It was an action of such comfort and affection that his eyes might have welled up with tears – had he been hydrated enough to form them. He wanted to close his eyes and bask in the sensation; but was terrified of losing sight of her. She might just _vanish_ if he did.

"I won't this time." She promised. "Not if I can help it… Not yet. You… you just need something to… You need tea, and warmth, and _food_!"

" _Why_?" he demanded, wincing at the sulkiness in his voice. Her words had brought to mind the day she'd died, and how he'd pleaded the exact same thing to her. His voice had been far more depressed than panicked… but they had been the same words. No wonder she had promised she would stay 'this time'.

"Because you'll _die_ without it!" she replied almost shrilly. The hand on his cheek slipped down to grip the nape of his neck, and the determination in her strong but small hand told him – more than nearly anything else – that he couldn't _possibly_ be dead, dreaming, _or_ having a hallucination. The feeling that she could be anything beyond utterly _real_ was fading. "If I'm _here_ … if you can see, hear, and _feel_ me; and I can _do_ something about it… I _can't_ just sit here and watch you _die_!"

Erik stared at her with brand new misery. He could recall just how miserable it had been to sit by helplessly and watch _her_ die. Whatever this was… whatever was happening… he didn't want her to suffer the same fate. She looked just as she had the day she'd died – in terms of age, at least. Her weight was back up to a healthy level; and she clearly wasn't ill. Her skin wasn't pale or flushed with fever… But she was still just a girl in her mid-teenaged years. She was a girl who had no knowledge of the Parisian society he lived beneath. She would never find her way from this place alive… his maze and traps were far too clever. Whatever this was… could he risk her being here in reality and being left behind to die slowly as he'd been willingly doing?

Feebly, anxiously, he released her with a nod and a heavy exhausted sigh.

"All right…" he whispered.

Even though his hand slid from her own and landed in his lap with a definitive _plop_ , Arabella hesitated. Through heavy lidded eyes; he stared at her. The candlelight was catching her face mostly from above, highlighting her forehead and cheekbones so that they seemed more high and womanly than in reality. Arabella was most certainly a _woman_ and not a mere _girl_ … but only just barely. She'd been blessed with early curves – which had undoubtedly been partial catalyst for the abuse her father had inflicted upon her. But he'd never seen a fully grown and formed _**woman**_ before him in the old days. Here… in this lighting… it was terrifying just how the woman and the girl in her fought for dominance and acknowledgement as he stared.

The fact that he was trying to notice her womanliness over her girlishness in such a moment sickened him.

"You need warmth." She noted again. "Erik… can you… do you have the strength to get up?"

He glanced uneasily at the night stand. He considered whether it was strong enough to support him if he tried to claw his way into an upright position. The wood was strong and the structure sturdy… but he was so weak that it had rendered him outright clumsy. The idea of falling again, in front of her, was nauseating…

" _Miri kom_?" she demanded with worried impatience. " _Can_ you-?"

"I think so." He decided uncertainly; reaching up with one nearly skeletal hand to grab at the higher and nearest sharp corner. His other arm shifted and he struggled to one elbow for extra leverage. At once; Arabella stepped over his legs to position her body behind his, bracing his shoulders with her hands. Had he fallen again; she would have been trapped beneath him. He'd finished growing after her death; and even as thin as he was through life and with how much loss of weight he'd endured from his prolonged starvation; he was solid and would have easily crushed her.

By the time he made it to his knees, arms folded across the top of the night stand with the pinkie and ring finger of one hand stabilizing the candle that had once more nearly toppled; he was panting for breath and fighting off the grayness that swam into his field of vision. The pathetic light of the candle swayed violently with each puff of air his lungs forced out.

"What happened?" he demanded; turning his head slowly to stare at her. She was kneeling inches away; her face so close to his he could have pressed his forehead to hers. She had a steadying hand on the center of his upper back, while the other took his lead and held down the candle that seemed desperate to light the place aflame. "How did you _get_ here? You… you were _dead_."

"I know I was." She replied simply; beginning to gnaw on her lower lip. It was such an endearingly familiar tic of hers… something he'd utterly forgotten about through the passage of time. When her teeth released the now slightly swollen bit of flesh, he was sorely tempted to reach up and soothe it with one thumb… but he didn't have the strength or courage. Arabella had never encouraged advances from him; even though she'd been regularly adamant that she wouldn't turn them down once made. "I… I don't _know_ how this happened. One minute… you were dying… and all I could do was _sit here_ and _watch_ … and the next… the next you were _**talking**_ to me!"

There was bewildered joy in the depths of her desperately worried eyes. Erik felt a pang in his chest as he considered the emotions she'd always so clearly shown him. Arabella; although limited due to her own life experiences, had never been the type of woman to hold back what she felt or thought. Her passion – in every sense of the word – was something she'd worn on her sleeve. There had been no code that had held her back. She had ignored nearly every tried and true Romani tradition necessary when she finally found something she found deserving of her passion.

 _Even now… I can't believe she decided_ I _was the one who deserved her…_

"You were… watching me die?" he asked ashamedly. "For how _long_?"

Arabella set her jaw and shook her head.

"Let me get you into the bed." She insisted. "Or do it yourself; if you think you can. Then I can at _least_ get some blankets on you; and go about with setting the fire and making you that tea… When you're a little stronger; I'll go above for food."

Erik furrowed his brow in deep concentration as she pulled back the counterpane and top sheet; and it remained that way as he laboriously sat himself on the edge of the bed. To his amazement; sweat was beading on his brow and his limbs shook like the twigs of a bush under a hard wind once he was mostly settled. Arabella had knelt once more – this time by his feet to remove the slippers he wore by habit. The way she worked so hard to seek out his health and comfort was instantly heart-warming to him… and he again thought he might cry.

He was also trying to figure out why she was avoiding answering his question.

He was so tired… so weak… no wonder his emotional guard had completely evaporated! No wonder he couldn't think straight!

Together, they managed to shuffle him toward the center of the mattress until he was eased back onto an enormous pile of every single pillow available. Then; as though she knew his home by heart, Arabella not only pulled the blankets _on the bed_ over him; but found and pulled out every single extra one stored in the room! And his storage compartments were mostly camouflaged into the walls!

"How did you…?" he demanded as she began tucking him in under at least four quilts and then started lighting every candle or lamp she could find. "You… know my house? You know there is an _up_ to go to for food?"

She smiled at him… and that smile seemed to light up the entire room.

"Yes."

"But… _**how**_?"

"I _told_ you I would never leave you – _didn't_ I?" she demanded lightly as she shook out a match that had nearly burned her fingertips. After he stared at her – dumbfounded – for several long seconds, she merely gave one of her characteristic one-shoulder shrugs. "Well… I kept my promise. Now… you just stay there and relax. I'll set up the fire and the tea."

He understood that he should have felt indignant. He'd been _ready_ to die… to move on to whatever hell awaited him. Now here had come this young _dead_ woman from his past to prolong his sorry life? She was looking at him weak and virtually helpless… a veritable _wreck_ of a human being… bustling about his home as though it were her own! But… he was too stunned to feel _anything_ but numb shock.

His mind had struggled – after Persia – to remember the details of the girl he'd fought so hard to put behind him. He'd have done _anything_ to remember specific details about her. He'd kept some of those details over the years – like her basic personality, her true name, and the low key to her voice. But hallucination or dream; he'd never have remembered all the details being shown to him now. The Arabella of his _dreams_ would never have been so stubbornly determined to save his sorry hide! She'd have beckoned him to her side in the next world! As a matter of fact… he could almost remember the ghost of one dream – ages ago – in which she _had_!

"Wait!" he entreated when she turned to step from the room once more. She placed one hand on the door frame and turned to him; her brilliant red performance dress just as he remembered it the day he bought it for her.

He narrowed his eyes at the hand on the door, focusing on the ring with its' many tiny rubies in the shape of a phoenix's tail. Every detail was so particular… even the little freckles on the back of the same hand and wrist… He could think of _nothing_ to say to her; particularly when she frowned at him in annoyance at being held back from what she'd decided to do. He couldn't even lift his head from the pillow without lengthy recovery at this point; and his voice became a hopeful whine of desperation. " _ **Mira**_ _kom_?"

The frown on her face melted away into another one of those amazingly beautiful soft smiles that had rarely been given to anyone other than him.

"I'll be right back." She promised reassuringly. "Would you like me to sing; so you know I'm still in the other room? _I_ can barely believe it _myself_!"

He could only stare at her, flabberghasted; and Arabella's soft laughter – so rare and as exquisite as a priceless gem – floated back to him as she hurried to complete her mission. They _both_ knew she couldn't sing – not _really_. Her voice was pleasant enough for a lullaby to a baby, perhaps, but nothing more. It was simply something that wasn't _painful_ to hear.

Another harsh pain twisted at his heart when he thought about Arabella singing lullabies to a baby. He could recall the tiny red thing he'd once held in his hands and prepared for burial… how he'd identified with the literally soulless dead thing more than he ever had with any living human.

"Bella…" he whispered. " _Ma belle_ …"

Delight was beginning to replace his shock and disbelief. It wasn't overpowering… but it was a luminous presence in the deepest recesses of his soul. He could almost literally _feel_ it opening doors that had been closed _for_ _ **years**_ within him. Doors the acts and drugs of Persia had locked.

He drifted then; listening even as she began to hum out in his parlor and made a horrendous amount of noise trying to light the fire and start a pot of tea. He wondered how easy she would find it to light an indoor fire instead of one in a tent or out of doors completely. Would she know how to handle the utensils he now used for his tea? Would she find all she…

His body lurched at the realization of what she'd said earlier.

 _"I promise… I will_ _ **never**_ _leave you."_

Those might not be exactly the words she'd spoken – but it was exactly what she'd meant.

The idea she'd been _capable_ of keeping such a secret was something that would have changed the entire course of his life… had he so much as _suspected_ it all these years.

The delight drained away from him almost instantly. Shame and mortification replaced it, weakening him even further so that he actually had to fight to remain awake – even in his remaining stubborn shock.

 _No… No, no, no… It can't be… She can't have…_

 _If she never left…_ _ **why the hell is she here?**_


	2. Chapter 2

The sound of her own humming after so many years existing in and beneath an Opera House made Arabella cringe in shame. Still, she didn't let her shame keep her from creating the soft low music. She had offered Erik a way to continue being certain of her presence. Like all her promises, she was determined to keep it to the best of her ability.

It took several endless minutes to start the fire within the ridiculously oversized hearth of the parlor; but it was the best source of heat in the entire house. There _was_ a tiny one in the room Erik lay in, but it wouldn't be large enough to help warm him. Also, the large size of the fire she was building would make it easier to brew him a large pot of tea without having to work with the samovar or kitchen stove. She knew how to use these things – at least in theory – but didn't want to waste time with possible trial and errors.

 _I don't understand..._ she admitted to herself as she quickly prepared the necessary things to help Erik begin regaining his strength. _But whatever – whoever – did this… thank you!_

All these years of silence and loneliness… She hadn't spoken to another soul since the very day of her death. There had been nothing to do but linger near Erik, taking in every aspect of his life on a level that probably would have made him insanely uncomfortable. There had been no God, no angels, demons or devils. There hadn't even been other deceased spirits in any recognizable form. There was nothing to suggest Heaven, Hell, or even a limbo. She had simply existed in a space that seemed to be Erik's… but _wasn't_.

It had been so lonely… and futile… but her promise had kept her steady. At times she felt that she would lose her mind; particularly when all she could do was observe Erik and the people around him in moments of their greatest stupidity. Her sanity had been pressed not so much by the isolation and boredom in and of itself… but the occasional despair that accompanied it.

Realizing she'd been lost in thoughts of the past years, Arabella blinked to see that the pot was boiling, and nearly burned her hands off while hurriedly pouring it into a china cup and beginning to stir in the vast amounts of sugar she knew Erik needed. She'd forgotten just how things _felt_ over all these years! It made her particularly cautious as she carried the sugary supplement between the tips of all her fingers into the bedroom. It didn't even cross her mind to use a saucer so that her flesh wouldn't be scalded by the heat emanating through the frail china. Even years of observing Erik and those around him couldn't break all the habits she'd once lived with.

"Here we go…" she murmured quietly, her voice intense with concentration. Her eyes glanced up to see Erik hadn't moved much. His eyes were opening from a doze at the sound of her voice, and they seemed warier than before. "It'll have to cool for a little bit… but you'll at least have something decent – if only barely - in your system."

The atmosphere was different than it had been when she left the room. It made her feel instantly nervous, causing her to put the cup on the night stand by the – finally - completely burned down candle they'd both nearly knocked down several times.

It was a good thing she'd already lit lanterns and other candles around the room. The soft glow should have been comforting; banishing all shadows and any cause of suspense. But Erik's eyes on her nearly made her begin to tremble, even though his pupils kept shifting around the room so he wouldn't be caught staring. She hoped the anxiousness wouldn't remain. It overrode the sheer giddiness that kept trying to overtake her.

Then again… anxiousness was probably less embarrassing than giddiness.

"Why are you here?" he demanded uneasily.

"I told you. I don't know why-" she began, her voice catching and cracking twice with the dual emotions warring within her.

"-I don't mean _how_ you came to _be_ here." He interrupted; his impatient voice still weak. "I mean; _why are you still here_? _Why_ did you _stay_ near me for so long after all I've... How much did you actually _**see**_? I buried you the right way, didn't I? I never spoke your name again, and I did everything the way your people wanted!"

Well… if she wanted to be particular about it, the fact that he'd named a character in one of his opera's after her would have been enough for a Romani spirit to haunt him. That ghost would probably be the spirit of a real bastard to take such random offense, but it _was_ possible. But she had _already_ been there quietly haunting him, and she never would have thought it worth offense if she hadn't been. There were rarely true lines of family names that went back for generations because it could cause the dead to linger nearby; but Arabella wasn't even sure Erik remembered that Aminta was her true name. He'd only heard it once - on their wedding day. There was no reason to be either offended or honored.

Slowly straightening, Arabella stared at Erik in a moment of confusion as she braced herself to search for an answer. She had understood the question… but she didn't know exactly how much he wanted to know. There was a flush on his face now that the question had been asked, and he still wasn't meeting her gaze squarely. Her silence only seemed to make him even more uncomfortable. He was asking so many things at once. Where did she start?

"You did everything _perfectly_. It wasn't _that_ , Erik. I just… I… I don't…" she began uncertainly. "I made a promise. I kept it… I _never_ left. I mean… there were times I would _wander_ … but only into other rooms or other nearby spaces. When you slept, for instance… _**I**_ couldn't very well sleep. All that time, I was unable to sleep; so I'd wander, and I would pass the time in nearby streets or gardens. Sometimes there would be activity to amuse myself with… You spent so much time in cities that never seemed completely quiet…"

Erik looked at her slowly, the effort seeming to be painful for him.

"You… never left…" he whispered in pure horror. "You saw all the things I've done… Every heinous act… all my shame…"

"Well…" Arabella smiled weakly. "I had a promise to keep."

"Now I understand…" He closed his eyes and turned away. "I may not be dead yet… but _that's_ why you're here. You are to be _my judge_!"

Blinking rapidly in shock, Arabella tried to wrap her mind about this concept.

"N-no." she denied. "No! That can't be it. I won't _let_ that be it!"

He wouldn't turn back to her, but a wry smile twisted his already unpleasant looking face.

"Afraid to examine all these years too closely?" he asked. "I'm not surprised. Retrospective just might let you see what a waste of time keeping your promise was."

"That _isn't_ it!" she denied immediately. "Even if it were true, I'd be the _worst_ possible judge. I'm _far_ too partial where you're concerned."

"You've seen it _all_!" Erik replied disgustedly. "You're the _perfect_ judge."

Sighing, Arabella cautiously pressed her fingertip to the surface of the tea to see how it was cooling. It seemed to need a few more moments and a little help; so she leaned down and began gently blowing into the steamy liquid. Erik's efforts to remain awake and speak with her - along with his apparently strong emotions - were only going to weaken him further.

"I don't know how or why I'm here." She reminded him. "But I will _not_ judge you, Erik. Not in that capacity. Here…"

She turned with the now endurably hot liquid and guided the rim of the mug to his mouth. He allowed her to lift the back of his head up gently in her palm, but she could feel how he tensed at the contact. It was so different from how much easier they used to be with each other that it made her frown sadly. She watched as his gaunter-than-usual face puckered into a grimace of disgust at the taste of his black tea; but neither said anything about it for a long time. He seemed to be deeply lost in thoughts of his own, and she was having trouble not becoming lost in her own mind as well.

It didn't help that she'd become so accustomed to being unobserved over the years. It made her nearly fall back from the bed as he eventually took over holding the cup as he raised his body onto one shaky elbow. It would have been so easy to stand silent in a corner, watching as it had been her self-inflicted habit to do.

"What if you're wrong?" he suddenly demanded, holding the nearly empty cup over to her. Apparently there was a puddle of semi-solid sugar on the bottom he simply refused to ingest. "What if you're here to judge me… and by not doing so…"

He didn't have an accurate way to finish this thought. She could read it in the way he refused to meet her eyes, and how his already vague voice drifted off mid-sentence. He had no idea what the consequences of avoiding his suspicion could possibly be. She chose not to reply to the nonsense, stubbornly refusing to even _think_ it was the possible reason for her return to life.

"What if someone… or something… decided you'd had enough pain in your life?" she countered after a long moment of her own thoughts. "What if someone thought you might deserve a little bit of something at least _close_ to happiness?"

"And _you_ are the instigator of this near-happiness?" Erik's voice was bitterly sarcastic, making her flush hotly. "When were _we_ _ **ever**_ given the chance to be truly happy?"

Arabella opened her mouth to nearly scream in protest, but held herself back before she could rail at him. His words hurt as though they were an accusation of all her shortcomings in their brief time together. But she couldn't let Erik get to her. She couldn't let him waste his strength. Yes, they'd experienced extremely _little_ actual happiness together… but it _had_ existed. Maybe he couldn't remember after thirty-some-odd years of near misery, drug addiction, and suppressing so many horrors of his past. But, maybe, he also didn't mean any cruelty toward _her_.

Decades of having no choice but to keep to herself had taught her well how to stop instantly reacting and lashing out in agitation. She forced herself to remember that he'd just been through two truly traumatic events. First, Christine had left him. Then, out of the blue, his long-dead wife had returned from the very _grave_. Surely that would be exactly the type of circumstances to throw anyone off of their usual emotional balance… and Erik never _did_ have a particularly _good_ sense of emotional balance.

"I'll make you another cup of tea." She said coolly. "When you are done with it, I'm going above for food. Should I steal it from the Opera, or would you rather I take from your purses?"

"My pur-"Erik began to splutter in indignation… then seemed to remember that he was dealing with a woman who now had _nothing_ of her own. All of _her_ things were long gone. Slowly, he forced himself to take in a deep breath, and the attempt to reassert his logical state of mind made Arabella slowly relax. "No… of course I don't want you to steal. You don't have the experience I do. You'd never get away with it. My money is-"

"-I know where it is." Arabella stated calmly. "Let me make you another cup of tea… then you can get some rest."

She didn't give Erik a chance to respond this time. His emotions seemed to be in a state of constant fluctuation just now. She imagined he'd feel more in control of himself once he had some of his strength back. Beyond that; responding would have included a retort about how _he'd been teaching her_ how to pick pockets before he died, and that would possibly only lead into a debate they didn't have time for.

It only took her a few moments to pour the next cup of tea, since of course she'd left the hot kettle by the fire. When she returned, Erik already looked a little better. Of course he was still far too malnourished and weak for a single cup of sugary tea to make a massive difference; but the single cup had already helped enough to make it noticeable. She wouldn't count on that help lasting long without infusing him very quickly with even more sustenance.

"You can't go out like that." He noted when the second cup had been quickly drained. Closed his eyes and seemed almost to become a part of the bed. "You don't have any shoes on… and you'll stand out for blocks in that dress."

"I'll wear one of your cloaks." Arabella shrugged.

"What about shoes?"

"I'll wear a pair of your boots. You have surprisingly small feet for someone so tall. I can stuff them if I have to."

"Can you manage the boat?"

"Erik!" She let found herself laughing at the sudden surge of aggravation in her system. "I'll be _fine_! Go to sleep! I'll be leaving one more cup of tea for you. If you wake up while I'm gone, _you drink it_."

"Cold, disgustingly saccrine tea... Lovely..."

The ghost of a smile appeared on Erik's face, and she watched as he nearly fell unconscious rather than asleep. He'd been holding on to every ounce of strength he had in order to remain conscious. But obviously he saw the wisdom of resting while she was gone. It would do him absolutely no good whatsoever to remain awake, wasting his strength worrying.

The first thing Arabella did was to make the promised cup of tea she would leave on the night stand. Then she began the search for clothing that would allow her to go above mostly unnoticed.

Erik was so much taller than she was. Wearing any of his cloaks would make her stand out a mile; and his boots were nowhere near her size in spite of her observations to his foot size. It would be like watching a child who was playing dress up stumble about the streets if she went out like that. Still, it was better than risking Erik's anger if she took anything of Christine's. Those things had been bought specifically for his soprano. She wouldn't touch them and anger him – or disgust herself. After all the pain Christine had brought Erik – even if some of it was through no fault of her own...

She couldn't even quite bring herself to _consider_ doing such a thing. The idea repulsed her. She didn't understand quite why… but it did…

Well… that was a thought for later. Right now, though, Erik needed food.

She hadn't even thought about going across the lake. Not until the moment came when she had to climb into it and row the little vessel beneath the low ceiling beneath the fifth cellar. She sighed heavily, removing the oversized cloak she'd chosen to wear and folding it into a cushion where she'd sit. It had been truly frustrating to get the thing under control and begin rowing steadily. She'd never really been in a boat before and been required to row it!

She had no way of guessing how long she toiled on the lake. All she knew was that her back ached as her arms shook with fatigue. It was rather frightening, actually. She had no idea how she would carry food and drink back below, and then manage to get back across the lake without collapsing. Who would have thought rowing a damn boat could be so difficult? It was no wonder Erik seemed so much stronger than he should be; carting himself back and forth on a near-daily basis!

At least she could remember her way out to the Rue Scribe. Still panting a little and regretting the slight necessity for the cloak she had to put back on, she nearly stumbled out into the street. The sky was a strange brilliant orange in the East, what she could see directly overhead painted with what looked like finger streaks of lovely pink.

 _Morning, then. The shops will be_ -

Motion from a nearby alcove caught her eye, and she whipped her head in that direction to see a rather familiar face peering at her from a very badly chosen hiding spot. The older gentlemen with skin darker but much richer in tone than her own stared in absolute shock at her, and then cried out in a tongue she only knew bits and pieces of from watching Erik over the years. She understood the question in context, though.

 _Who is that?_

She didn't have time to answer questions. Darius – Nadir's man servant of all people! – didn't speak French anywhere near well enough for her to go on for the ages it would take. She, herself, had never practiced the language in a conversation - although she'd been learning it over the years. The lannguage barrier would make things take almost literally _forever_ , and then where would Erik be?

It seemed silly to flee her husbands' underground house like a thief in the night, but she hoisted up her skirt and billowing oversized cloak. Light on her feet but clumsy in the too-large boots, she clunked her way up the street faster than she thought possible given her fatigue. Darius probably wouldn't chase her, but she wasn't certain of it.

Nadir must have been waiting for Erik... unwilling or somehow unable to invade the house on the other side of the lake. He'd only found his way into the torture chamber because of Erik's planning, after all. No doubt he hadn't wanted to enter through that passage again! So after a month or more without any contact – knowing his friends' despair over Christine's abandonment - she couldn't blame Nadir if he was concerned. She only wondered – almost with a bubble of surprised giggles – just what his reaction to Darius' news of seeing a stranger would be.

Well... at least she'd been seen _leaving_ the area of the house. If she'd been seen going in - with or without Erik - she knew the old Persian would be _deadly_ suspicious of Erik's latest machinations. She hoped he wouldn't come rushing back to the Rue Scribe in order to confront her upon her return. She wasn't prepared for conversations with _anyone_ about who she was and why she was coming and going from Erik's home. If it weren't for his cloak and boots, she could get away with claiming to be a beggar taking shelter next to the lake - but only just barely. _With_ Erik's clothes? Not so much.

She would let herself worry about it when the time came.


	3. Chapter 3

"Thank you, Sir."

Arabella took the jar of fresh milk and placed it into her recently acquired basket of grocery items. She had entirely forgotten about transporting the food until she was standing in the middle of the market street with an armful of food. Luckily, finding a basket had been easy enough... although her obvious desperation for it had probably caused the merchant to swindle her slightly. She clearly couldn't stand there all day arguing with him in her thickly accented French. She'd filled the basket with cheese, fruit, vegetables, a little fresh meat, milk, and bread. She saved the meat and milk for last, after realizing she had no clothes and hurried to buy a second-hand blouse and skirt from one of the shopkeepers on the edge of the market. She probably could have afforded something brand new, but she hadn't wanted to press her luck with spending _Erik's_ money for her own needs.

It took over an hour to find the things she needed. If it hadn't been for her obvious foreignness, perhaps she could have returned to the lake sooner. As it was, her looks and accent earned her hard glares and several cold shoulders. Obtaining all the things she needed was not easy when you were so clearly an outsider in oversized boots and cloak.

She began to think halfway through her errand that perhaps wearing the bright dress and no shoes at all might have gotten her better results. Maybe then she could've at least distracted the male merchants with what little skin and ample curves she owned. She hated using her looks to get anything - due to her past. But she would use it if necessary. She wasn't beyond seeing the positive side of such a thing.

Now that she had all the food they would need for several days – including ingredients for a stew that she could cook until everything was soft enough for Erik to eat without much effort – she could return to the Opera. She could start taking care of him and cleaning up his dusty home so it would be a better place for him to recuperate. Maybe she could even give him the comfort he so clearly needed.

He would just have to _want_ such a thing from her. Accepting her presence when all but delusional was not the same as welcoming her back with open arms.

She was so preoccupied with these thoughts, that she didn't think much of the slightly open gate leading to where she'd left the boat on the lake. She had, after all, taken off rather quickly when she saw Darius. It was entirely possible she hadn't latched the gate tightly. She certainly hadn't _locked_ it! She hadn't wanted to carry around that cumbersome key. With a sigh of relief that all she had to do now was make it across the lake without drowning, she barely noticed that the underground lake was slightly lighted and she wouldn't have to grope blindly to the boat.

"Who are you?"

She nearly dropped the basket she carried; but was so determined to bring it to Erik that she quickly redoubled her grip on the handle. Her wide eyes turned, and she nearly toppled in the oversized boots she wore. Now, of course, she could quite plainly see the lantern that had offered her its meager light.

Nadir Kahn was stepping forward from where he'd been leaning against a wall to the side of the gate; apparently having waited until he was thoroughly able to block her escape route outside before making himself known. There was no sign of his man, Darius.

"I…" She stared blankly at Nadir, realizing she hadn't even _tried_ to think of what to tell him. She'd _known_ this could happen, and hadn't even _considered_ what her answers to his questions would be! As she stared dumbly at him, Nadir swept his eyes slowly up and down her frame, taking in her darkish skin, oversized cloak, and cloud of hair.

"I know that cloak." He murmured quietly. His tone wasn't quite accusatory, but it was fairly close. No doubt he was building to it. "I saw it many times in Persia. Where did _you_ get it?"

"He let me use it." Arabella finally managed, hoping that if she could be as succinct as possible, Nadir wouldn't drag her into a long conversation about where she'd come from and who she was.

"He?" Nadir raised a skeptical eyebrow.

Arabella pointed toward the opposite side of the lake, feeling the weight of her basket drag her now overburdened shoulder down.

"You _know_ him?"

"Yes." She admitted quickly. "Yes. I must go. He is ill. I must go to him."

"But who _are_ -"

" _Please, Daroga_."

The form of address threw him off guard, and Nadir took half a step back, staring at her with eyes as wide as her own had been when he'd startled her.

"You know me, _mademoiselle?"_

Arabella shifted uncomfortably.

"I know _of_ you." She admitted reluctantly, motioning to his affected Parisian garb - influenced by his Persian beginnings. "It is obvious who you are."

There was a moment of silence before Nadir seemed to comprehend everything she had said so far.

"I didn't know he cared enough to speak of me." He whispered, seeming a little stunned. Then, he blinked and seemed to shake off the disbelief. "You really _do_ know him. You say he is ill?"

"Yes Sir." Arabella felt like she would slip into one of her own native tongues if she didn't get moving soon. The worry over Erik was simply too great to continue concentrating on the French language. "He needs food."

"All right then." Nadir stepped toward her, rolling up his sleeves ad looking as though he were going to step around her. "Get in the boat. I will take us there if you point the way for me."

"He won't want to see-"

"-He won't have a choice." Nadir nearly snapped. "He is my friend, _Mademoiselle. I_ don't know _you_. You _seem_ to mean well enough, but I will see him for myself. And if this is some strange trick – being done _to_ you or being done _by_ you … well… we shall see."

His threat should have made her cower; but Arabella of course knew Nadir quite a bit more than she'd let on. He wasn't the type of man to harm a woman simply because of some sort of weird trick. Yes, he would be upset if she was luring him into a trap… but he wasn't likely to harm her. She knew he was more concerned about Erik truly being ill. Maybe he was even half convinced that his old friend had truly gone around an irreversible bend and lost his mind; tricking her into being near or with him. He had, after all, _abducted_ Christine. In his latest of emotional states; who was to say he wouldn't do it again?

Arabella climbed into the boat, again folding the cloak under her as a cushion and then kicking off the annoyingly clunky boots. After being wrapped in Erik's cloak for so long, the closed-in lake seemed uncomfortably chill… but she was desperate to stop feeling quite so clumsy. She rested the basket of food between her feet while Nadir climbed in and took the oars from her when she attempted to take them up herself.

"Such a pretty young lady should not have to exert herself." He stated with a touch of flirtation in his glittering eyes. This made Arabella blush slightly and manage a little smile. He was further confirming her sense of safety around him. Even though he didn't know what to make of her or her presence here, his instant concern for Erik overrode his suspicions.

 _He is a good man._ She thought. It didn't matter that he was several years older than Erik; and frail from his imprisonment in Mazandaran. He was a gentleman – and a gentle man. _I am glad he and Erik found each other again._

They were halfway across the lake when he spoke again.

"How ill is he?"

Arabella considered her answer to this, but could not think of why she would lie.

"He's very weak. He'll get better soon with food."

Nadir stared at her. She could feel his eyes boring into her. But when she didn't get more specific, he sighed in resignation.

"You don't say much, do you?"

"The French… is new to me."

"I see… What is your name?"

Arabella ducked her head. She tried to remember if Erik had ever mentioned her – even slightly – to Nadir before. Had he, perhaps, said something in his delirium after being poisoned at the new Vizier's wedding? She didn't think so. He _certainly_ had never mentioned her _by name_. This man couldn't _possibly_ guess that she was someone from Erik's long-gone past.

"Arabella."

"It is good to meet another friend of Erik's, Mademoiselle Arabella."

In spite of all the years that had gone by, she couldn't help a flash of indignation that Nadir had called her _Mademoiselle_. It wasn't his fault, of course. He had no way of knowing she was a married woman. And she wouldn't correct him because of all the questions that would follow the statement. Still… she was surprised that she could feel so much pride in being a _Madam_ instead of a _Mademoiselle;_ that being addressed incorrectly might sting. She simply stared ahead while Nadir continued rowing, straining her eyes for the sight of Erik's door.

Not long after, the boat lightly struck the stone embankment of the lake, and Arabella nearly leapt from the boat in her eagerness to reach Erik. She brought only the basket of food with her, ignoring the clothing she'd left behind and not caring that Nadir paused to collect them. It felt as though _days_ had passed since she'd left Erik. It was more unnerving than she'd have ever imagined, being that far away from him for so long.

She burst through the front door and placed the basket hurriedly on the nearest clear surface on her way to check on him in the bedroom. It was on the tip of her tongue to cry out his name; but quickly reminded herself that he might still be resting. Besides… what was she to do if he was awake? All she could really do now was to give him a little milk, and maybe a small piece of bread. It would be better if she just reheated the kettle of tea and served him _that_ while the stew cooked.

Erik _wasn't_ sleeping. To her great surprise, he wasn't even _in bed_. Erik instead seemed at first to be completely _gone_. The simple lack of his presence in the unmade bed, with his shoes still dropped carelessly on the floor, sent her into a near panic.

Then she noticed how the blankets and sheets were all fell off the side of the bed opposite the door, as though they'd been pulled in that direction. Even one of the pillows was perched precariously on the edge.

"Erik?" she cried, rushing around the foot of the bed and peering anxiously down at the floor. Nadir's shadow - faint but still visible – fell over the floor and bed of the room as he tried to see what had alarmed her.

She paused only briefly at the bottom corner of the bed, focusing on the form of her weak husband sprawled in the corner of the room; looking as though someone had tossed him there like a rag doll. He looked dazed and half-conscious, with a definitive mark on his forehead, cheek, and what he had for a nose that suggested he'd fallen right into the wall. The already discolored skin of his face was swollen from the impact, and almost seemed to glow a frail but hideous pink in the limited firelight.

His eyes opened blearily at her outcry, and peered up at her with eyes so lost and resentful that she instantly thought she might cry.

"Damned blankets…" he murmured as she came forward to crouch in front of him. "I just wanted the _stupid_ chamber-"

Color rose in his cheeks, and Arabella quickly took his arms in her hands to help him sit up straight.

"Do you still need it?" she whispered as low as she dared. Erik's eyes narrowed, as though he couldn't quite understand why she'd be so delicate of his already decimated pride. Then, his eyes moved from her to the man looming in the doorway and set his jaw furiously.

"You brought _him_?" he demanded, all signs of bleariness gone from him in an instant as his voice rose with false strength and very real ire. "Why in the _Hell_ -"

"The _mademoiselle_ did not _bring_ me." Nadir interrupted quickly. "I was lying in wait, my friend. It is not her fault I was suspicious of a very young and lovely girl wearing _your_ clothing and using _your_ boat."

Erik snapped something that Arabella missed completely – perhaps a Russian phrase he thought too vulgar to utter in a way either she or Nadir might understand.

"Erik…" Arabella murmured tenderly. "Do you still need to-"

"Does it _smell_ like I don't?" he demanded.

"No…" she admitted. "Stop being so rude. We only wish to _help_ you. There is no shame in needing to regain your strength."

"Why not?" He asked, slipping into her Romani tongue this time. Clearly he was trying to keep Nadir out of the conversation. "I deserve it, don't I? I put myself in this damned position!"

"I suppose you did. But there is still no shame in it." She said quietly, rising to her feet. After a brief look around, she noticed a chamber pot on the opposite side of the hearth. "If you need any help-"

"-God, no!" he denied vehemently. "Please… just take Nadir and get out of here! This is bad enough as it is!"

Nodding uncertainly, Arabella placed the vessel before him and then turned to usher Nadir from the room. Nadir backed out willingly enough, but he certainly looked concerned and baffled.

"Was he being … ungentlemanly to you?" he asked curiously as she closed the bedroom door and began to unpack the basket of food she'd brought home. She began shifting through the ingredients she would need for stew.

"You know him." She said with a wry smile. "Vulnerability is not a state he handles with grace."

Nadir's laughter came out sharp and shocked, but genuine.

"That is certainly true." He agreed. "Do you mind if I speak with him alone once he is finished in there?"

Arabella began to carry what she needed towards the large fireplace, planning to fetch knives and such from the kitchen next.

"That is up to him." She sighed. "But you should stay out of his reach. He will lash out at nearly anything just now, I think."

"And… he doesn't frighten you when he is like this?" Nadir sounded beyond amazed. It almost made Arabella laugh.

"Whatever fear I feel around Erik has nothing to do with him." She said confidently. "Erik would not harm me. You, on the other hand… He may not hurt you _severely_ – you are his friend – but that doesn't mean he would not lash out at you. You are a man. He would think you fair game."

She could instantly tell that her knowledge of Erik was making Nadir more and more curious. It made her skin prickle uneasily to think his suspicions were only rising. There was nothing she could say to this man that wouldn't later seem like a lie if she tried to explain her relationship to Erik without telling the entire truth. Thus, she was grateful when he decided not to interrogate her further.

"Are you certain French is new to you? You speak French almost better than I do."

She blinked hard at the sudden change in topic.

"I… I do?"

"Almost."

She glanced over her shoulder before walking into the kitchen, and was shocked to see Nadir smiling, giving her a sly little wink of amusement. It made her acutely uncomfortable… This man did not even know her; but he was so quickly comfortable enough to tease her. Oh, she wasn't afraid of Nadir… but being teased by anyone other than Erik had usually made her fear what might come next. She had thought she could trust Nadir without thought; but she was apparently unable to instantly drop her guard. They were strangers still.

After a moment, she remembered that she was supposed to be preparing Erik something to eat… and hurried into the kitchen for the tools she would need. Maybe once they knew each other in equal measure, things could be different.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: I just want to warn people well ahead of time that this story may get INCREDIBLY dark and explicit. I'm not 100% certain, because as I have already wrned I am trying to work out a solid plot as I go - although it may end up being purely character driven. But some of the ideas running like rats in my head are very dark and sexually explicit... so yeah... warning y'all very far ahead of time so you can quit before you get further into it if you're not into that kind of thing.**

 **Thank you to all of you for reading, and for the few for reviewing!**

 **Also I want to send a special shoutout to E.M.K.81. She's been enormously helpful in helping me proof read. And, in point of fact, she virtually wrote the first chapter herself when I was getting stuck on how to pull it off. The chapter I posted was written entirely my own; but many of its' events, thoughts, and beats came from a draft she sent me after I requested it. So, yeah... check out her stuff!**

 **I would also like to promote MarbleSky and her Underland Chronicles stories. She's a great writer as well, though she's way too hard on herself. She's also my #1 fan and an amazing supporter who's willing to give me the boosts I need when my confidence fails or just need to bounce ideas off of her. Thanks, hon!**

 **Now... on to Erik's mortification...**

* * *

 _How humiliating! As if being weak and graceless isn't enough!_

Erik performed his business and then carefully pushed the chamber pot into the corner near the fireplace. It was absolutely mortifying that someone else was going to have to see and smell his bodily waste in order to dispose of it. He would have much preferred to keep his body's needs entirely to himself. But of course, that wasn't the most embarrassing thing. Now he had to worry about that damnably stubborn friend of his showing up and sticking his nose in where it didn't belong.

 _Why did he come? And what the Hell did Arabella tell him? Even a total fool wouldn't believe the_ truth _!_

Sighing, he slowly crawled his way back into bed. The blankets were so hopelessly tangled together that he didn't even _bother_ trying to straighten them out and cover himself up again. The room was much warmer than it _had_ been, with all the fireplaces lit; so at least he didn't have to lay there shivering.

"Erik?"

He groaned at the low voice that came through the door, occurring at the same time as a light knock. He would have ignored the sounds entirely; but Nadir wasn't the type of man to be ignored. The Persian stuck his head in almost instantly after calling out, and stared at Erik in concern. Those intense, hounding eyes made Erik want to squirm; but he refused to give into the impulse.

"No one asked you here."

"It is good to see you too, my friend." Nadir smiled, showing slight relief at his friends' characteristic drollness. He straightened out his body and walked much more boldly into the room until he could lean against the wall much closer to the bed. "Your pretty friend said you are ill. I expected to find you on deaths' door."

Erik rolled his eyes.

"I can recover quickly from nearly anything. You know that. I just need my strength back."

"I suppose I should be grateful for that." the Persian chuckled. "Last time I was here, you offered me a cup of tea. I should have been disappointed if you didn't take back that olive branch so you could try to _stab_ me with it this time around."

Unable to help himself, Erik burst out in a weak but genuine laugh.

"Where is Arabella?" he asked after a moment. "Is she preparing even more of that disgusting tea she's been pouring down my throat?"

Nadir folded his arms across his chest and moved even closer, pulling over a chair by the vanity which Christine used to sit in to write.

"I believe she is making some kind of stew."

A long moment passed, and Erik could literally touch the sudden tension in his friend.

 _I shouldn't have mentioned her._

 _What does it matter? He'd bring the subject round when it suited him._

"Who is she?" his old friend asked – with far more gentleness than he'd have expected. "It's only been a month since-"

"- _ **Don't**_ -! " Erik began, flinching violently. His voice dropped instantly into a horrible sepulcher like rasp. " _Don't say her name_!"

Nadir stared at him uneasily again.

"It's only been a little over a month." He said more carefully. "Yet you have invited this other girl below? That seems unlike you."

"How optimistic of you to suggest I invite _anyone_ into my home."

Erik sighed, wishing he could figure out how to explain Arabella to his friend without seeming like a lunatic. It would probably lead Nadir to believe that his breakdown – the one that had led to Christine's abduction and her necessary rescue - had been permanent.

A shadow appeared from just outside the bedroom, and both men turned to see that Arabella had changed into a long gray skirt and long-sleeved, off-white blouse. Being that the clothing was used, it looked rather good on her; even if the blouse was too thin to conceal every aspect of the body beneath. It probably wouldn't keep her warm, either.

In one hand she held what looked to be the same china cup she'd brought him the tea in earlier. But there was no steam rising from it. His stomach nearly cramped in revulsion at drinking yet another cold cup of the vile stuff.

"Are you cold?" Erik asked impulsively, although was instantly confused as to why he'd bother asking such a question. She had been in a much more skin-revealing dress before she'd gone shopping; and she hadn't seemed cold _then_. But … Arabella was his _guest_ now… _**wasn't**_ she? _Shouldn't_ he see to her needs? And there was something long-dormant within him that seemed to be wakening; making him feel _driven_ to take care of her in whatever way he could. It wasn't any lingering sense of love. There was no warmth in his concern for her. It was an impulse – as involuntary of a reflex as breathing.

"No." She replied, although he detected a hint of deception in her gaze. It didn't help that she was hugging her arms to her sides the best she could with that cup in one hand. "How are _you_ feeling?"

"Better every minute." He said with a wry smile. "I'd probably feel much better if I wasn't being gawked at like a dangerous specimen."

Arabella opened her mouth, and Erik prepared himself for a scolding. After a moment, however, he was astonished that she merely shook her head and looked away. It was the second time she had done such a thing… She'd kept quiet about her feelings in the past; but rarely when she was angry with him in any fashion. Even if she was tactful about it, she'd always spoken her mind instantly.

Instead of making a comment, she set her jaw and then finally moved forward. Erik watched – as did Nadir – as she reached down to lift his head in one tender hand and bring her fresh cup to his lips. He was expecting another cup of that disgusting tea – maybe simply cold - but was surprised to taste much-too sweet milk. It was _polluted_ with even more grains in it than the tea; making it feel like he was swallowing liquid sand. The flavor was not as bad, but the texture made him suppress a grimace of distaste.

When she had coaxed the entire contents of the cup down his throat, she put the china to the side and began to straighten out the blankets he had merely crawled onto. He was rather amazed at ow fearlessly she put her hands on his body – which had been in these particular clothes for days on end. _Surely_ she must think he smelled disgusting, having gone unwashed for so long. He also would have thought he was at least a _little_ heavier than he seemed to be while she handled him – even if it was mostly his legs she dealt with.

She made certain he was tucked beneath the blankets; while Nadir eyed her with absolutely amazed eyes. Erik had never seen someone so flabbergasted by such mundane tasks before. Was it because Erik lie in this bed unmasked and unwashed that the Persian found the simple scene so astounding? Erik felt he should _definitely_ be a little insulted by Nadir's disbelieving stare – particularly since it focused more on the shabbily-clad girl-woman moving about the room in the soft glow of firelight.

"Perhaps I can finally hear the undoubtedly fascinating story about your arrival here, _mademoiselle_." Nadir finally said to Arabella curiously.

Erik's body went tense; surprised at how much he abruptly realized he _hated_ his friend looking at Arabella, or how he spoke to her. It was _**ridiculous**_ , really; particularly since it was simply in Nadir's _nature_ to ask questions after being a man of the law for so long. Why should he feel uncomfortable with his only friend in the world asking her questions? He, _himself_ , was used to being stand-offish with Nadir. But that didn't mean Nadir ever meant any actual harm.

Arabella glanced at Erik after a moment of hesitation - something he knew Nadir would instantly pick up on. The very fact that she looked so instantly _to him_ made his irrational ire dampen slightly.

 _She hasn't decided what to say._ He realized. _She_ can't _say she's my_ wife _. Nadir won't believe_ that _._

" _Mademoiselle_?" Nadir pressed, although his voice was gentle rather than accusatory.

"What should I say?" Arabella asked Erik; her voice low as she switched from French to Romani. She could just as easily have slipped into Spanish, but it wasn't quite as true to her nature. "I'm not sure how to explain…"

Erik managed a shrug of cluelessness.

"What do you _want_ to tell him?" he asked. "He will _chafe_ at the idea of you being so suddenly-."

"I beg your pardon." Nadir sat up straighter and then leaned forward until he was nearly between them. "Isn't it rather rude to speak in a way I cannot understand? Erik – are you scheming again?"

"I'm too tired to scheme." Erik sighed, waving at his friend dismissively without looking away from Arabella.

"I can say someone sent me to see if you were all right." Arabella offered in Romani, ignoring Nadir's interruption. "Someone who felt it was not safe to return themselves. Maybe we can claim _she_ did it."

"She wouldn't-"

"-But _**he**_ doesn't know that!" she insisted.

"Erik!" Nadir snapped. "What are you hiding from me _now_?"

"I am hiding _nothing_." Erik promised quickly; his voice acidic. "We are discussing our strange circumstances. They are … complicated."

" _You_ are complicated. This is no surprise to me." Nadir spread his hands expressively. " _Tell_ me!"

"It isn't _complicated_ …" Arabella managed uncertainly. "It is _unbelievable_ …"

Erik had turned his eyes uneasily to Nadir; knowing that he probably wasn't going to let things rest until he'd felt he'd been told the entire truth. But it wasn't Nadir's skepticism that drew his attention. Instead, it was Arabella finally giving up on standing tall and strong between her long-ago husband and his only friend. His head snapped back in her direction as she sank onto the edge of his mattress and searched blindly for his hand.

Erik did not reach out to take her hand and make her search easier. But he didn't pull away when her seeking fingers found his. He even curled his own around her slender hand gently; not bothering to return the strength of her grip. He was able to stay awake like this because – as he'd pointed out to Nadir – he could recover from nearly _any_ ailment faster than most people. But he was so damned weak and tired. Thinking clearly was becoming a dilemma.

"Nadir says you are cooking something." He changed the subject abruptly; deciding he would not put Arabella through the ordeal of having to tell Nadir stories – true or false ones – without his support. He didn't have it in him just now. It was so much easier just to let them all be in this room together; since it was so obvious Nadir had no intentions of going anywhere. He was growing so tired. His body was beginning to seem all but numb – his brain was sluggish. His eyelids were drooping. He didn't want to do this now… It was just taking far too much out of him.

"Yes…" Arabella's confession was barely a whisper, but she managed a weak smile for him.

" _Mademoiselle_ -"Nadir tried to press again, looking aggravated.

"- Erik –" Arabella interrupted; her hand flying up to her cloud of hair in sudden realization of something Erik couldn't manage to understand. "-Do you have anything that might serve as a _dicklo_?"

In his quickly deteriorating state of mind, it took Erik what felt like forever to process her question.

" _Dicklo_ …?" It had been so long since he allowed himself to even think of the gypsy camp that he couldn't at first remember what that even _was_. His lidded eyes on Nadir and Arabella showed that his friend had finally taken Arabella's words as his signal to be silent and stop asking so many questions. The old Persian was now staring down at the mattress, where Arabella held Erik's hand so very tenderly in her own. He was watching as she slowly rubbed her thumb back and forth across his sallow and parchment-thin flesh.

"You know… a head scarf." Arabella clarified after a moment, finally realizing his brilliant mind had actually _forgotten_ something.

Memories flooded Erik so suddenly that his body nearly jolted. It was like being struck by lightning, how vividly they flashed through his mind. He could see Arabella on their wedding day as her grandmother ceremonially undid the maiden braid his bride had almost always kept her hair in. That modest braid had been replaced with a head covering; and he had virtually never seen her in public without one from that day forward. The simple square of cloth could be all different sizes or colors, and worn in all different ways. How they were worn did not matter. But a proper married Romani woman did _not_ appear without one.

Arabella hadn't been too strictly traditional in their youth. Her relationship with the Romani – due to her status as a half-breed and the isolating abuses of her father – hadn't been strong enough for her to retain their traditions religiously. Still… she'd kept to a few of them. She'd been proud to be a bride, and had enjoyed wearing that silly item of identity.

 _Arabella… a wife…_ _ **my**_ _wife…_ he thought dizzily. Should he _encourage_ her to identify herself as a married woman? Would giving her something to use as that symbol encourage her to feel like they could simple be what they once were. Even _he_ wasn't the same... how could _they_ be the same?

"The… the chest in my room…" he finally decided a tad uncomfortably. "There are fabrics… you can cut any of them you would like…"

He lifted his eyes uneasily to her face, and felt both uplifted and dismayed at the way her caramel colored eyes lit up. He knew that she was taking this as a concrete acknowledgement of their relationship. Would it mean that she would hold him to their youthful vows? Would she expect him to …?

He couldn't make sense of things anymore. Even his instincts were fading.

"I … I can't keep this up." He admitted apologetically. "Can you leave me alone, please? When that stew is ready… I'll feel better then…"

"Oh – of course!"

Arabella stood up quickly and rounded the bed, picking up the chamber pot he'd tried to conceal. He grimaced in distaste, but Arabella showed absolutely no signs of discomfort or judgment whtsoever. Once holding his waste, she motioned for Erik to precede her from the room. The look on her face was neutral… but somehow Erik deliriously imagined she was preparing to thrw the liquid waste at his friend once they were outside! A ridiculously toddler-like giggle bubbled up in him, and he just barely managed to stamp it out.

He must have made some kind of noise; because Arabella glanced at him with questioning amusement before leaving the room. He was prepared to close his eyes and fade away into blissful sleep the second the door closed … but it caught his attention that she hadn't closed the door entirely.

" _Daroga_ … would you be so kind?..."

Erik felt his lips twitch momentarily at the _hilarious_ idea that Arabella was passing off his urine to Nadir and asking _him_ to dispose of it.

 _Never … interrogate my…_

But he was lost in a sweet unconsciousness. He never finished the amused thought. When he awoke, he wouldn't even remember beginning it.

His dreams were touched with subconscious acknowledgements of little things he heard coming from the parlor. Arabella and Nadir were taking care of his dusty home, which had not been touched in a month. The destruction Erik had done to his room was being picked up and organized, although some of his despaired damage was irreparable. Music had been shredded. The bench in front of his organ was splintered and useless. The sounds of their occasional voices reached Erik's unconscious brain and tainted his vague dreams; making him see images of Persia and the gypsy camp as though through a very dark pane of glass. These memories were so twisted and vague that it was impossible to tell just how true the events were. He couldn't change what was happening. He couldn't turn away.

Just as he'd been in the beginning of his real life in the camp... he was trapped.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N. I hope you all don't hate me for this... but I couldn't leave this chapter alone. I lost SO MUCH after my first edit. FFnet lost it all on me and my repost was no different than the first. I was just so upset that I wasn't thinking clearly and repsted the schlock of my pre-edit. Here is my attempt to return it to the glory I felt my final edit was.**

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Arabella was surprised after the bedroom door closed quietly behind her. There was no suspicious tension in the room from unansolved mysteries. Nadir did not seem to be ready to leap on her with fresh questions. He seemed, instead, to be far more quietly curious. After cleaning out the chamber pot, his eyes were on where she stood over the stew, which was finally beginning to heat over the fire in the hearth. They were on _her_... and they _didn't **move**_... but he was silent.

She decided to concentrate on the meal in order to keep from becoming nervous under his curious stare. She was making far more stew than necessary, honestly. It would take nearly all day for it to cook properly, which meant Erik would likely have to drink a great deal more sugared milk… if he wasn't kept completely senseless from the spiked cup he'd only recently ingested.

The thought she'd been so bold as to give him that laudnum was a good distraction. Erik had spent months trying to wean himself off of the habit that had never been a particularly strong addiction but merely an emotional and mental crutch. The night Christine had carried the package to him from her accidental meeting with Bernard had been one of the last times he ever touched the chemical. He'd been so ashamed to be caught guilty of such a vice. And, the further he'd spiraled into his terrible darkness, the more he'd craved keeping his mind as clear as possible.

After stirring the stew for the few distracting minutes it took to ignore how uncomfortable Nadir's relatively innocent stare could be, she turned to Erik's room where his coffin-bed and organ were. Erik had told her where to find cloth for a _dicklo_ , so now would be the best time to get some. Maybe she could even use some of the same cloth to make a vest (while further avoiding Nadir's silent inquisition) to put over her worn blouse. The fact that the shirts' modest cut hadn't kept it from being just as revealing as the red dress hadn't passed her notice. It was worn almost to the point of opacity after all – and she had no undergarments to wear beneath it.

She was digging through the chest Erik had told her about when she heard Nadirs' quiet breathing behind her. _Of course_ he was curious about what she was up to, and had followed her. Being alone was not going to be an option while he remained in the house, apparently. But now he'd caught sight of the disaster Erik had left of his room; and the shock had made him catch his breath in a noticable gasp. First; there were the ruins of Erik's music, scattered everywhere so that it could never be recognizable to even the most discerning of eyes. Then there was the bench usually tucked up against the organ... the canopy that had been set up over his coffin bed... and the black candles with candelabra's surrounding them. All had been smashed, ripped, and obliterated to greater or lesser degree.

It looked as though a terrible storm had gone through and left nothing but chaos in its wake.

"What happened?" he breathed, his voice unsteady as he realized what his friend must have suffered even after their cup of tea during Christine and Raoul's escape.

Arabella's searching hands came to a sudden halt within the chest. Her lips parted to answer, but the cloth she'd uncovered had swept her response away. It temporarily scattered her mind; just as the debris of Erik's rage was scattered... For a long moment, it was as if Nadir wasn't even _there_.

Slowly, one hand moved to finish pushing aside a folded square of tan leather to further reveal what she'd seen. Erik had been collecting things from his adventures around the world for _years_ ; so she'd always known _about_ this trunk… but she hadn't really thought about its' _contents_ before. Slowly, however, she pulled out a large piece of plumb purple satin that unfolded in her seeking hands to reveal it was really a dress shirt.

Arabella felt light-headed as she stared at the startling reminder of their wedding day. Her grandmother had been quite sneaky – as had Erik. They had gone behind her back to make certain Erik could wear a color matching the dress she was wearing for the ceremony. It had been mostly hidden through most of the ceremony under his dark blue tuxedo… but… the effort had been there. Arabella had never _realized_ in all these years that Erik had kept it. She probably _**shouldn't**_ have been surprised. Honestly, she ought to have _noticed_ **_long_ ** before this. Erik had left the gypsy camp with such a tiny collection of belongings. How could she have _missed_ such an obvious object of sentimentality?

He'd kept it... even after all these years.. Maybe he didn't even remember that he had it anymore... But at some point, he'd undoubtedly come across it without her noticing; and not tossed it to the side.

"What is wrong?" Nadir asked; apparently having noticed her astonishment. The question brought Arabella back into the present a little; and resentment at having such a shocking moment interrupted swelled briefly in her. It was becoming truly startling, just how easily annoyance swam to the surface of her mind.

Nadir carefully picked his way across the disaster Erik had left in his grieving wake, and looked down at the material in her hand.

"What is that?"

Arabella shook her head abruptly ad folded the shirt to return it to its' hiding place.

"It's nothing. Just something I didn't expect."

"A _shirt_ …? How is that unexpected in a storage chest!" Nadir sounded genuinely amused now, and Arabella rolled her eyes.

She grabbed for a different cloth – something innocuous but thick enough to keep her head warm in this oftentimes cold house. What she found was simply a navy blue yard of wool. Then, she hid Erik's bridal shirt under the many items that had been covering it. She didn't even know what kind of vanity had driven her to _search_ through his things in the first place. All she'd needed was a plain piece of cloth. What did it really serve to discover a piece of Erik's past only she could connect to a memory? He could have entirely forgotten about its' existence in there over the years.

It wasn't worth dwelling over - although it was nice to know.

She barely even gave Nadir a glance as she began a search for where Erik had stowed away his small sewing kit – rarely used now; since he liked to have so many brand-new and expensive things.

"So… what _happened_ here?" Nadir repeated; once more reminding her of his constant presence.

 _I wonder if Erik would have been annoyed if he'd been able to feel my presence all these years... He doesn't mean any harm. Let go of your discomfort, woman!_

" _Erik_ happened." She replied finally. "That's all. Erik… briefly lost his mind and decided to take his anger out on his own belongings. I'll clean this all up before he ever gets better and has to see it. He doesn't need such blatant reminders of his own misery."

She finished making her _dicklo_ quite quickly. It was _far_ easier than making the dress that had been the exact same material as Erik's wedding shirt. It took mere moments longer to stow the sewing kit back in its proper place, and then she was covering her hair in the cloth, and beginning to gather the shreds of paper scattered all over the entire room. As though he'd been asked, Nadir wasted no more time in watching her; and instead decided to occupy himself with picking up the shattered bench and candles. He searched so carefully that she finally realized he was seeking out slivers of glass from a broken tumbler. He'd found the majority of it under Erik's organ, wedged between two of its' pedals by the force of Erik's now rather long-ago rage.

"Thank you…" she offered slowly once the room had been halfway straightened. "I think that will do for now. I need to check on the stew."

 _Again_ , Nadir followed her.

"Do you think I'm going to steal something?" she challenged after tasting the stew and stirring it thoroughly. Apparently, it wasn't quite so easy to simply discard the annoyance Nadir was causing in her. It was actually rather funny; considering how often she had expected she and Nadir could make marvelous friends. Then again... this _wasn't_ the building of a friendship. _This_ was the stalling of getting to know each other honestly.

"No, _mademoiselle_." He assured quickly. "I'm trying to take your proper measure."

"That would be easier done with a tailors' kit." She replied – startling herself with the sudden wittiness of her comment. Listening to Erik for so many years had apparently rubbed off on her. As it was, Nadir offered a very nasal chuckle that was more air than sound. "You don't need to follow me like a lost dog."

"I am trying to figure out exactly how you know so much about Erik and his house." The Daroga explained. "I have only stepped foot in his home _once_ before today; and I have known him better than anyone in his entire life."

He was wrong… _so_ wrong. But Arabella couldn't think of how to explain that to him without lying. She gnawed worryingly at her lower lip as she cleaned the parlor. She was aware of Nadir following her with his gaze; insatiably curious in spite of his barely restrained questions.

"You should go home." She offered abruptly. "Erik will be sleeping for _hours_. It will take him a few days before he can be up on his feet again. The less you are here during that time... the better behaved he'll be likely to act when you reunite."

"Is there anything I can bring for either of you?" Nadir offered.

"Why would you want to bring _me_ anything?"

Arabella's body froze as the question passed her lips. She could scarcely believe such a suspicious nature still existed in her. Especially since she was asking the mostly honorable _Daroga of Mazandaran_ … her husbands' _closest_ _confidant_! There wasn't even a _slight_ reason for her to react so cautiously to one of his offers! But the words slipped out even as the ill-ease filled her.

 _And yet, you would crawl into Erik's arms this very moment if he beckoned you... right in that bed. He's a genuine and unashamed murderer; but you'd do **that** rather than answer a question. How ridiculous can you be?_

"You are nursing my friend back to health." Nadir replied, his voice cautious because of her sudden rigidness. His eyes, as she forced herself to turn to him, showed nothing but gentle honesty and a tepid warmth. It would have been difficult for him to truly _like_ her after all her reticence, and after such a short acquaintance. But he seemed to be _tempted_ to like her. "He clearly trusts you – and you so clearly… _care_ … for him. Why _shouldn't_ I make such an offer? At least if I can bring you anything, you won't have to leave him alone. You were obviously uncomfortable being away from him when we first met."

Slowly, Arabella forced herself to take in a very deep breath, and nodded.

"I understand." She conceded. "Thank you, but… I think I have gotten everything we need for now."

"Are you certain?"

Arabella's brow furrowed and she stared at Nadir in confusion. She didn't understand why he pressed the issue so hard. Had she done something to hint they were lacking? Her eyes briefly scanned the room, knowing he hadn't gone into the kitchen at any time. He had no way of knowing how lacking the pantry still was - although she could deal with the food she'd gotten that morning until Erik was better.

"Certain? No…" she admitted reluctantly. "But I'm _fairly_ sure. We'll survive a few days, at the very least."

"All right." Nadir nodded simple acceptance. "Tell Erik I will be visiting again soon to harass him once more."

"Yes… yes I will." She promised. "Thank you."

"Do you need to go with me, so you can bring the boat back?"

"No." she shook her head and quickly turned away. She recalled that Erik had bid Nadir remain inside while _he_ retrieved the boat from the other side of the lake after Raoul and Christine's escape. "I know how to get it back when we need it."

"Oh…" Nadir looked a touch skeptical; but didn't bother to argue. "Very well then… It was a pleasure to meet you, _Mademoiselle_ Arabella."

She nodded briefly, watching as he turned and reluctantly left the house on his own. It took every fiber of self-control she'd acquired over the years to keep from telling him to _please_ stop calling her that insolent form of address. She hoped that by the next time they met, she would be able to tell Nadir at least _more_ of the truth about her past with Erik.

For nearly an hour, Arabella idly dusted and cleaned different areas of Erik's home – most of which had been left unscathed by the disastrous fallout of Christine's abandonment. Between tasks she would stir up the pot of soup she was carefully cooking, and make adjustments as she thought necessary. She was afraid to make it _too_ flavorful; lest it upset Erik's empty stomach… but she didn't wish to feed him anything unappetizingly _bland_ , either.

Once the cleaning was done, there was virtually nothing to do… and she found herself returning as silently as possible to the bedroom where her husband slept. She lowered herself into the chair Nadir had dragged closer to the bed during his visit, and simply watched him. His terribly twisted face looked so close to normal when he slept – bereft as it was of anything but peace. She wondered if he had so much as inkling of how old he looked while awake. The world had been so unkind to him that he rarely so much as opened his eyes before the weight of his woes twisted him in some way or another. But when he slept she could all but see the boy she'd fallen in love with… the one who'd been so incredibly and painfully gentle with her. That softness of a boy who was bruised and beaten but not yet broken returned only when he slept… and she wondered if her return would ever be enough to bring back that gentleness within him.

Or had time eradicated it?

Remaining with Erik because she could see where he'd come from and how he'd gotten to this pathetic near-end had been easy. It had only been easy, though, because she'd been partially _removed_ from it. She hadn't needed to suffer the _consequences_ of his change in demeanor. If she were to assume that absolutely not one _iota_ of his life would have been changed by her survival… could she have survived with him for so many years? Could she have been cool-headed enough to understand him, and remain by his side through all the times he might inadvertently cause her pain? _Everyone_ caused others pain – even those they loved. It was a simple fact of being human she hadn't been able to truly grasp until she had been dead for many years… and seen Christine do the things she'd done to Erik… and vice versa.

 _He wouldn't have become what he did. Not if I'd been there._ She denied – an argument she was very familiar with from the intervening years. _He wouldn't have been so desperate to drown his horror in the opium and hashish. He wouldn't have allowed himself to become the Angel of Doom in Persia. He wouldn't have suffered through loving Christine_ at all _!_

Those things were probably all true… Had she remained alive, it was quite likely he would never have amassed the not inconsiderable fame he had throughout Europe. Nadir may or may not have come seeking an audience to fetch him for the Shah… By that point in Erik's life, it was possible that they would have been quite the pair… Would a married freak have been as appealing to the Khanum? Would it have even slowed her down in her wretchedly twisted avarice and desire for what Erik had and refused to give over? Could Arabella, herself, have slowed _him_ down once he'd been given his first taste of cold-blooded, indefensible _murder_?

She didn't know. But she could recall recognizing – before she ever died – the shadow of darkness that lay mostly dormant in her husband. If it hadn't been for Persia, she didn't know how much of that inner demon would have ever been released.

But, as it was, Arabella _had_ died. Erik _had_ gone to Persia and become the Angel of Doom. He _had_ become more wretchedly twisted with every day he spent there… and the demon had never more than hibernated ever since. He'd grown bitter and spiteful and… honestly… a little bit insane.

How was it that the concept of being in Erik's presence didn't make her shudder in horror? Not at his face, of course. His face hadn't bothered her for more than a few days. But how could she stand so steadfastly at his side and love him in spite of the violent and dark creature he'd become? How could she be willingly to constantly make excuse after excuse for him; even though some of his actions _had been_ inexcusable?

How could the prospect _excite_ her as it did? Was there something wrong with her; that she felt a thrill with the knowledge that all Erik's often violent passion was now within her reach?

 _Because… he is Erik…_ her mind whispered simply. _He would never harm me._

He'd changed in the last few days of his…'courtship'… of Christine. But he'd still never directly harmed the girl he loved – even in his darkest and most dangerous moments. Yes… the chandelier had undoubtedly killed many people… or at least hurt them severely. Some of them had probably even been women… But Erik hadn't been anywhere even _close_ to in his right mind that day. He was a lot better now, even if he wasn't completely healed.

 _It was a lapse… That's all… Just a lapse in his ability to think and act rationally…_

 _ **Still making excuses for him? What if it happens again?**_

Arabella jolted, her eyes going huge. That … that last thought hadn't been her voice. It was a voice she knew fairly well… but it hadn't been her own. For a long moment she could barely even breathe… and then suddenly she was nearly panting in the chill that overtook her entire body. That voice had not been heard since before her death… a voice she knew damned well belonged to a dead man.

 _You couldn't contact Erik while you were dead._ She reminded herself quickly. _The dead can't reach you. They can't hurt you. It was your imagination. These are_ your _doubts._ _ **Own**_ _them! They don't make you love Erik any less!_

For a moment it seemed like something responded to her thoughts… but it was so insubstantial this time that it really _did_ seem to be her imagination. Now it was more than her skin that was cold. It felt as though tiny ice flecks ran through her blood. The tiniest of sounds escaped her astonished and frightened lips before she could force herself to settle comfortably back into the chair where she'd been perching.

Erik stirred on the bed, his head shifting in her direction and his eyes cracking blearily open. She cursed inwardly, reminding herself that Erik always had had a high tolerance for drugs. If she had wanted to help him sleep, she probably should have given him a higher dose of laudanum. But she hadn't been trying to outright drug him… just _assist_ his sleep. It was no wonder the tiniest shift in atmosphere – especially one that brought fear into the room – should wake him up.

"What is it?" he murmured, not sounding particularly alarmed. He wasn't even trying to shift his gaze around the room in search of whatever had alarmed her.

Still stunned by that invading thought in her mind, Arabella stared at him mutely until his eyes closed again, and he settled back into restful sleep.

 _I have nothing to fear from Erik…_ she thought determinedly, although even her mental voice shook. _Not_ _ **really**_ _. I'd be a fool not to recognize the changes in him and keep them in mind… but keeping it in mind doesn't make him a danger to me. It makes him_ capable _of being a danger, should he lose himself again… yes… but not an actual outright danger… I am not going to fear Erik. I will not be made to fear my own husband!_

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 **A/N: Thank you for putting up with my comparatively small edits.**

 **I've already said this; but a reminder may be necessary from time-to-time. This is not my only project, and I have been struggling with a flat-out working plot. Please don't be mad if it is quite awhile before the next chapter - now and for future chapters. I want to give you all quality, not just nonesense. I'm sure slow writing with cause some continuity errors and such... but little such mistakes aren't what I'm concerned about.**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: WARNING! Scenario of a graphic nature ahead!**

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Erik looked around slowly, brow furrowed as his hand slipped from the coat he'd just finished hanging on it's accustomed hook.

 _Something is different…_ he thought; taking in his parlor. _What is different?_

Starting at the front door, he cautiously started forward. He was determined to make as little noise as possible, so as not to alert anyone that might have caused the as yet unnamed changes to his home. It was unlikely an intruder would have already come and gone. Casual callers weren't so common here, and none would have risked angering him by coming in unannounced or without permission.

He was almost halfway to the great fireplace when he realized that almost _everything_ was different – if only subtly in most cases. It wasn't merely a case of something missing or having been moved. Nothing had been disturbed. It was something altogether different, and he continued forward as he noticed these things without any desire to. It was almost as though he had no control over his body, even if he'd have chosen to do exactly the same things it was doing anyway.

The surfaces that could gleam and shine under the right light seemed polished to a disorienting gleam. The top of his piano, for instance, gleamed so brightly in the firelight that it created a dull glare. Gold-toned lamp bases and candelabras shot of sparks of reflecting light. The clear glass of a hurricane lamp caught the firelight so fiercely that it sent a rainbow reflection only a few inches large up into the ceilingthat seemed tangible enough to grasp.

Colors were bold and brilliant in his vision. Everything seemed ultra-defined that his fingers itched. It was as though they could almost already feel whatever he saw.

 _But I can't feel the fire…_ he thought slowly, glancing up to his oversized hearth. _There's no warmth…_

Dazed, he stepped up to his piano and brushed his fingertips in a caress across the ivory keys. They should have been cool to the touch, and smooth. He should have felt the sharp crease between each key… but he felt nothing… Slowly he lifted his eyes to stare across the room once again; but something new caught his attention.

A violin was on the piano. Had it been there when he came into the room? He could have sworn the surface had been entirely uncluttered. With the strength of the glare coming off the wood surfaces, though, could he have merely missed it until now? That didn't seem likely.

 _Bella…_ he thought at once, recognizing the violin as the one she'd given him when they were no more than friends. He hadn't seen it since her death. It had been one of the many things he'd had to leave behind out of expediancy. Knowing it would likely burn after he left had nearly killed him... but he'd taken the rough wooden flute.

" _No_!"

He whirled, eyes going wide as he reacted to her voice. It was as though thinking about her had summoned her; but there was no one behind him. As a matter of fact, the hysterical scream seemed almost _disembodied_. It was as though she was in the catacombs beneath Paris, and he stood hearing it's distorted echo up on the roof of the Opera. It was that warped. Still... it hadn't actually been that _soft_. Arabella was _nearby_ , somewhere.

"Bella?" he called – his voice ridiculously soft considering how distant she seemed. He took a single step towards his mockery of a bedroom – where her voice seemed to be coming from. "Is that you?"

" _Don't touch me! Don't you_ **touch** _me!"_

These were words he'd heard years ago… _decades_ ago. She'd been struggling with another gypsy – someone that had wanted to hurt her. But she'd been angry _as well_ as scared back then. This time, she just sounded _pleading_. Erik felt his heart jump into his throat, and he tried to run towards his room and that ever-distant voice. But the air seemed to be made out of shoulder-deep water. It was _impossible_ to move fast.

 _It's a dream!_ He realized suddenly. _It's a dream! Wake up! There's no danger! Not to Arabella! You got rid of all the eople who would cause her harm **ages** ago!_

He expected this realization to flood him with relief. Instead, the dread in his heart grew as his body continued to struggle towards his bedroom. Realizing that Arabella _was_ probably sitting alone in his house - maybe even next to his sleeping body - wasn't a comfort at all. His need to find the source of her panic and tear it limb from limb was _still_ paramount.

It was the strongest emotion he'd felt for her since they'd discussed the reason behind her return. The simple remaining affection was nothing. Relief that her presence was a wonderful distraction was _nothing_. The dread her cry caused in his dream, though? _That_ was simply... all-consuming.

" _Bella_!" he called again. "It's all right! I'm coming!"

The effect of fighting through thin air continued until his hand closed on the handle of his door. At that point, he was suddenly able to move freely. This suddenness caused him to nearly sprawl into his room as the door gave weigh beneath the momentum of his forward rush. His eyes were frantic as they swept from one wall to the opposite one, taking in a perfectly in-tact room with black coffin, candles, candelabra, organ, bench, and sofa. There was also a desk where he sometimes sat to do his composing when the piano simply wasn't comfortable. The curtain behind his coffin bed was in place, hiding the torture chamber beyond.

But there was no Arabella! He panted, trying to understand… noticing – if only barely – the barest movement of the curtain. That was something he could easily explain as movement caused by his sudden entrance; causing a slight gust in the room that shifted the material. It was nothing _worth_ noticing. _Nothing_ in this room seemed to be.

"Bella?" he called again, the dream so surreal in its heightened sense of focus that he thought if he looked up the ceiling would prove _miles_ overhead. _Everything_ seemed to feel so _high_ …

He was just moving swiftly towards his coffin bed – thinking perhaps she was inside – when there was the tiniest creak of sound behind him. He knew that noise very well… the door had made the exact same sound upon his own entrance.

 _Wait! What?_ He thought dazedly. _That makes no sense!_ How could he know a sound perfectly well that didn't actually _exist_ in the waking world?

"Erik?"

He had started to turn at the sound of the creak, so the woman standing in the doorway was already in his peripheral vision when the sound of her voice slammed into him like a battering ram.

Even though it was only a dream, he could feel his heart and lungs constrict painfully. It was the first physical thing he'd felt in this dream at all so far. In spite of the shock, the dread in him stilled; turning into something unnamable but utterly ice-cold. Maybe it was _only_ the shock… but it didn't _feel_ like shock. It was as though the dread had merely shifted form and was hiding _beneath_ the shock.

"Christine…" he breathed, the pain of his constricting chest made even worse by the sound of her name on his own lips. He finished turning; and saw her slowly stepping into his room.

She wore a very lovely dress of the most exquisite silk; it's rich robins'-egg blue color perfectly setting off her much darker blue eyes, peaches-n-cream complexion, and sun-golden hair. It was her hair that was startling, for never once had he seen it so unbound before. Not even on that last night. It fell over her shoulders and down her back in soft curls that simply _begged_ to be touched, shining like an angelic halo.

"What are you looking for?" Christine asked curiously as she came towards him, her face open and warm with greeting. There was no trepidation at all in her gaze. She didn't hold herself uncertainly or show any signs of the revulsion that had always been there.

"I…"

He was so astonished by her presence that it nearly overwhelmed his reason for being in this room. But the question managed to bring him back to what had caused his dread. It seemed to take forever, though, as though he were drugged with something that slowed every single once of his faculties.

He couldn't find the right words to explain his long-lost wife to this girl. Not even in a dream. His mouth went dry as she drew closer, and he found himself not quite able to look away in the confusion he still felt over Arabella's inexplicable absence and Christine's sudden presence. He stared at his sweet and innocent angel of music... the one he'd sullied just by wanting her so much.

"Aren't we going to celebrate?" Christine interrupted his circling thoughts and stepped even closer to him; boggling his brain into further disarray. She reached up so that her hand was between them, her palm out. He watched her reach up and lightly brush the palm of her hand from the bottom of his chest up to over where his heartbeat thundered behind his ribs. He could see her hand on him... but he almost couldn't feel it. It was so feather-light.

 _Why can't I feel anything else?_ he wondered distractedly. _I couldn't feel the fire heat. I couldn't feel the keys. I **still** can't feel the floor. Why?..._

"C-Celebrate?" he whispered hoarsely; forcing himself to pay attention to Christine. Well... _force_ was probably too strong a word. Whenever she was in the room, it was all he could _ever_ focus on.

"Well… I'm not wearing _this_ for _nothing_."

She took half a step back, her hand still on his chest, and Erik saw that in the blink of an eye her dress had changed. It wasn't the robins'-egg blue silk anymore. Now it was the white satin of the dress he'd last seen her wearing… and - although unbound - her curls were now beneath the veil which was already pulled back from her face.

"Don't we have a reason to celebrate?" she asked, her lips turning up into an alluring smile he'd never _once_ seen on her face in reality. The flirtation and devilishness in her eyes was completely unlike the girl he'd known… although no doubt _Raoul_ would see it plenty in their future together.

Even knowing this was a dream… even acknowledging the horrible truth of reality… the pain he normally felt thinking about Christine and Raoul's future together was absent from him. There was only the ache of wanting it to be _him_ that she loved and took into her future.

 _This is how I've always wanted her to look at me._

"Christine…" he rasped.

" _No! Get off me!_ _**Erik!**_ "

His head jerked around; but Arabella's returning voice seemed to be coming from nowhere at all.

"What is it?" Christine pressed, her brow furrowing in concern.

"Did't you _hear_ that?" he demanded.

"Hear _what_?" she asked. "I hear _nothing_ , Erik. Is that why you tore away from me? Did you think you'd _heard_ something?"

"Torn away…?" His eyes were inexorably drawn back to Christine, and now noticed that she'd changed yet again. It was subtler this time… Now, her hair was in disarray, her lips looked swollen from kissing, and her dress was somewhat rumpled. The laces and buttons had been partially undone in places.

It made his body lurch in sudden and unforgivable _need_. Not his dream body, either. He could almost feel his _physical_ body when it responded to his dream. His imagination was apparently more than good enough for there to be a translation from brain to body. Although his dream body barely moved, he almost felt himself gritting his teeth in the effort to suppress the unnexpected sensation.

"I thought this was what you _wanted._ " Christine didn't whine, exactly… but she looked a little wounded by his obvious confusion. "You've been telling me _all you wanted_ was a wife. How can I be your wife in all ways until we've _celebrated_?"

Arabella had once demanded something simillar of him. He could recall his exact reaction to the sullen curiosity, too. But Christine didn't look like she had a physical condition that could cause him to control his desire. He swallowed thickly - a ticking happening deep in his throat at the effort. His mouth was still dry.

"My wife-" he began, the word feeling _all wrong!_

" _Pig!_ "

"I don't understand!" Erik plead with nothing and no one; afraid of where this dream was going now. It took every ounce of strength in his body, but he turned to face his coffin and push the lid open. He wasn't sure why his dream body had been given permission to move the way he wanted it to; but he knew it wouldn't last long. But this was the only place he could guess that last word had come from.

There was nothing inside…

 _Arabella! Where are you?_

"Erik…" Christine's voice was inviting now, and he was startled when her arms encircled him from behind and her palms smoothed over his stomache. "You don't have to wait anymore. I made my choice. I know what I want."

 _So do I…_ he thought miserably. _You want_ _ **him**_ _._

As she pressed closer to him, and he could now sense her breath on the nape of his neck, his shoulders slumped and his head fell back in the beginnings of surrender. He _had_ wanted this… for _far_ _ **too**_ _ **long**_. How could he refuse it now – even in a dream? He'd never been given such a gift before – not in life or in sleep. And Arabella's voice was nothing but a distraction... nothing that meant anything. It was memories, perhaps... memories of one of the worst states he'd ever seen her in. He probably couldn't bear - even subconciously - to think of the later times that had led directly to her death.

 _She isn't here. There's nowhere left to look. Let yourself have what you've wanted for so long. There's nowhere left -_

Suddenly his drifting eyes opened wide and he stared in mute horror at the curtain on the opposite side of his coffin. It wasn't moving now. There was no reason for his eyes to be drawn to it. But they were… He couldn't _help_ but look at the damned thing.

 _Bella…_ his mind whispered fearfully. _Are you in **there**?_

Christine had begun toying with the buttons of his shirt, and it was absolute agony to push her hands down in order to round the dais his coffin sat on. He reached out to try and pull the curtain aside with a jerk; but his _dream_ wife hadn't let him get very far from her. She'd followed right at his heels, and reached up to snatch his hand away from the curtain before he could touch it. He caught a glimpse of the ring Christine had returned to him before leaving with Raoul on her wedding finger.

"Why are you thinking about _that_ terrible place _ **now**_?" she asked. "It's ridiculous and _morbid._ Erik... It's our _wedding night_! Don't spoil it with something so macabre!"

"But-"

"- _Please_ …"

Christine pulled him inexorably away from the curtain toward the door. Erik resisted, but the pull he felt to her was stronger with every single step away from the torture chamber. The dream was reasserting its power over his will. _Christine_ was taking over control of his will... or - more accurately - his wil _to_ be in control.

"I _heard_ something." He persisted.

"Oh, all _right_!"

Sighing, Christine switched directions and virtually swung Erik towards the sofa. It was such an unexpected decision – or perhaps he simply didn't have the ability to control his reaction – that he spun and fell into it. Christine was already moving back toward the torture chamber; and Erik watched in bewilderment and horror as she pressed the button he had on that last night he'd truly seen her. The curtain parted mechanically; all too slowly, and Erik's eyes were riveted as the light within came on – not as hot or brilliant as he knew it should have been, but it didn't _need_ to be at full force to do damage.

"You _see_?" Christine asked, staring into the torture chamber with him as she slid back towards him. "There's _nothing_ _ **there**_ , my love."

 _But there_ _ **is**_ _!_

Now he understood this dream a little better - and his horror was bottomless. The moment he'd thought his wife might be in the torture chamber, his conscious brain had asserted reality – reminding his _sub_ conscious that the chamber was soundproof. That was what had halted the voice from reaching his ears. But Christine wasn't seeing...

Arabella _was_ in there. She seemed to be alone… but she was in terrible shape. In the center of the torture chamber, she was at the absolute mercy of the light and heat of his invention. It also looked as though it hadn't been the only thing she was at the mercy of. As in life before he'd fallen asleep, she was wearing a worn off-white blouse and even older skirt… but the blouse had been ripped badly. Her hair was a wreck, as though she'd been rolling around in a pile of hay for hours on end. But it seemed something violent had happened to her hair rough enough to cause several streams of blood to drip from the hairline.

Whatever had caused her this harm wasn't visible in that moment. She simple slumped in the center of the chamber. One leg was buckled under her, and the other was splayed out as though she'd been thrown into that position.

Her face wasn't the only place she'd injured. As Arabella looked up and around the chamber frantically, Erik took in that her lip, one cheek, her chin, and her nose were all bloody from recently open injuries. There was a terrible bruise under her jaw at the top of her throat, as well as fingermarks on her arms and wrists. Beneath the clinging remnants of her torn blouse were more marks – some of them looked like they'd been made by human _teeth_. Someone had _marked_ her - deliberately and mrcilessly.

In spite of the abuse in her youth, Erik had _never_ seen Arabella so badly injured. Yes, the wound to her stomach had been terrible - particlarly in the end. But it had been a very isolated wound. Nothing had _ever_ compared to _this_. Had all he'd wittnessed in the world decided to color his dream? The horrors of his life hadn't stopped after Arabella's death, after all. Was that what this is?

It didn't feel like it. It felt like this was _truly_ Arabella... that she was truly _badly_ injured... and that it was _all his fault._

"Now…" Christine pressed as she walked back towards him with a flirtatious glint in her eyes. Erik sat gaping, still unable to quite believe what he was seeing - in this room and the next. "Have I put your fears to rest?"

"No!" he finally managed to say. "No – God – Bella's _hurt_! Why can't you _see_ that?"

This time, Christine didn't seem to hear him _at all_. She was still smiling; completely undisturbed by his outburst as he forced his body to his feet.

He started back toward the torture chamber, but Christine was already in his way, placing her surprisingly bold hands on his chest as she had his stomche earlier. This time, there was no doubt what her hands intended as they moved straight to the buttons of his shirt.

"I guess you don't want to take me back to the bedroom." She whispered almost huskily. "Is that why we're here? Yu want me here?"

So many things happened to Erik in that second. As the first button was undone, and the cool air touched an inch or two of usually covered flesh, he thought he could feel his body go rigid from neck to calf. It was such an intimate second… so _strangely_ intimate for what very little it was. His breath caught in his throat, and he found himself freezing as Christine pressed close enough to feel that he was…

It wasn't just a distant reality of knowing his body might be reacting to his dream. His body in the dream was reacting; and he felt it!

 _Why is this all I can feel?_ he demanded again, unable to speak the words aloud.

It was the ghost of a touch… the hint of further intimacies. It was nothing but the brushing of her dress up against the cloth of his trousers. It was _**nothing**_ more than that as her hands worked at his second, third, and fourth shirt buttons. But it was more than he'd _ever_ had from _anyone_ …

Although he could see Arabella was slowly struggling to her feet in the chamber, his eyes still began to close in helpless reaction to Christine's feather-light manipulations.

 _You and your pathetic_ _ **need**_ _!_ His mind screamed at him. _Something's_ _ **wrong**_ _!_ _ **Who did that to Bella?**_ _How can even your **dream** -self be so heartless?_

His eyes snapped open in surprise once most of his shirt had been undone. He could feel Christine parting the fabric as she simultaneously pressed her lips against his collar bone. There was no hesitation on her part, in spite of how this was the very first time she could have ever seen how tortured _the rest_ of his body was. His torso held most of the physical scars of his life – beyond his general all-over deformity. His chin dropped and he stared down at Christine as she moved her lips from his collar bone to the very center of his chest over his heart. Her eyes were open, and she was staring up at him with wide and sultry eyes …

 _No!_ His mind continued to scream. _God damn you, Erik! Get Arabella out of that place before you begin entertaining your base-_

He finally forced his eyes back up, and his entire body jolted. It wasn't just the lust coursing through him at Christine's ever-bolder touch this time - even as one of her hand brushed genty over his trousers.

Just as Christine's dress had changed randomly; the scene in the chamber had changed. Arabella was still inside… but now she wasn't alone. Now there was a man standing with her, his hands digging into her hair roughly – at least partially explaining how her hair and bloody injuries might have occurred to begin with. He was holding her head down to his very bare and dark-skinned chest – a macabre reflection of what was happening to Erik. He was squeezing one of Arabella's wrists in a white-knuckled grasp and trying to force her to touch-

 _That son-of-a-bitch!_ He thought furiously; instantly recognizing the gypsy he'd _personally_ murdered. He'd murdered him for exactly this kind of offense! He'd _protected_ her from that sick bastard! _Even in dreams he's hurting-_

 _-Damn it, Erik! It's a_ _ **dream**_ _!_

This voice was just as hard; but sounded far more patronizingly reasonable. He understood it was nothing but a different aspect of himself; but he still cringed away from it. After so many months of listening to that coldly rational and animalistic voice... he wanted nothing to do with it. It had led to all the tragedy above in the Opera House. It had led to hid madness.

 _You_ _ **know**_ _where Arabella_ _ **actually**_ _is. You_ _ **know**_ _she isn't being harmed. Why_ _ **not**_ _give in? Stop torturing yourself!_

As though the tableaux weren't horrific enough, Erik watched as Christine rose to a straighter position and Adnah – his murder victim – pulled Arabella into a similar pose. The only difference in what happened next was that Christine undid her own dress and began to slowly peel it from her shoulders. In the torture chamber, however, Arabella was having hers _torn_ from her - torn so hard that Adnah's fingernails were tearing furrows into her flesh. He watched as Arabella's mouth fell open in a scream of pain, and Christine's lower lip dropped just enough to make her seem _unbearably_ wanton only inches from his gaping eyes.

 _What's the harm?_ The reasonable voice in his mind demanded.

"Erik…" Christine whispered, reaching up to take his face in her hands as he had so many days before in reality. "Kiss me…"

 _Christine…_

As she brought her mouth up to his in a _searing_ kiss, her entire body made full contact with his. Although Arabella was being forced to kiss Adnah in the next room – being held roughly in place by imprisoning arms and punishing hands – Erik's arms tremblingly brought Christine closer as well. He could see both at once, even though he was trapped in the wanton body making love to Christine. It broke him that Arabella did nothing to fight Adnah away. Her struggles were pathetic in Adnah's arms. She didn't even try to bite him - and he distinctly remembered the _real_ Adnah's hand having teeth marks in it that day.

 _It_ _ **is**_ _a dream…_ he acknowledged reluctantly. _But I can't see her hurt… Not even in a dream. I failed her enough before... I don't want to..._

Apparently, he wasn't being given a choice. Every single second that went by, Arabella was being forced to endure the most brutal rendition of what he and Christine were doing together. He had absolutely no control over his body anymore. What he did to Christine, Arabella endured in the most unwilling of ways.

Eventually he was shirtless… Christine was in nothing but her last layer of underclothes, and he had spun her around to hold her from behind. It gave his hands access to all the flesh he wanted while his lips devoured the column of her throat and the soft curve of her shoulder.

Shame filled him as what Christine did to his dream body began to distract him from his rage as Arabella's blouse was torn completely away and Adnah began to hike her skirt up higher and higher. The bastard was truly enjoying this slow taking of what he'd never recieved in life.

How could he find bliss while his little gypsy princess was being put through such _torture_?

His eyes never quite left Arabella while his body moved with Christine's. He could see as Adnah spun her around, echoing what he'd done to Christine while bruising her and biting her… while he shoved her face-first into the mirror that looked out into his room. Arabella's blood from a broken nose smeared over the glass. Her hands came up to try and push the glass away, but she had no strength. Adnah was ready for anything she attempted, and punished her in one way or another before she could even work up the strength to think of something new.

Suddenly, stuck as she was against the glass, her eyes focused beyond her own reflection and seemed to meet his.

 _No!_ His mind screamed in denial.

His dream body wasn't anywhere near as upset. It was enjoying the softness of Christine's skin... the dampness of... the taste... He was softly moaning in pleasure and anticipation.

 _She can't see me through the glass! It's one way glass!_

He knew he was wrong. Arabella _had_ found him through the glass. He knew the second her entire face had gone slack in shock… For a moment, as his pleasure and her torment continued, they could nly stare at one another. Erik felt so sick that he didn't understand how he could continue - even in dream - to be giving into his intense need of Christine.

Then her face fell forward into the glass. Her eyes close and her face collapsed. Although everything Erik and Christine continued to do was still being echoed in the most sadistic of ways by Adnah and Arabella… there was no more fight left in her…

And he could only watch as the few tears of pain glistening in her eyelashes until that point turned into twin waterfalls that spilled down her ruined cheeks. It was almost as though she'd lost all _life_ ; except that her knees hadn't buckled. All she did now was try to keep her face from being brutally smashed into the glass repeatedly as Adnah went at her. She avoided that pain instinctively... but absolutely nothing more.

Before him, Christine was in what only could have been described as ecstasy. Even Erik, in his state, thought her responses to what was happeing in this dream were a little extreme... but what did he know? He'd never been with a woman before. All he knew for sure was that the part of him that could felt only Christine, and saw only Christine, was in something akin to _bliss_. It was beyond sweet, even through the by then tiny part of his brain that realized he couldn't actually feel anything.

 _This can't be happening._ he thought, eyes relentlessly locked on the nearly lifeless creature being held captive in the trap he'd made with his own hands.

Erik's dream eyes squeezed shut, and he cried out... but...

 _Was it in horror or pleasure?_


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Hope you all enjoy this next chapter! I won't lie, it may be the last one for a while... my plate is filled to overflowing with other projects and it's getting in the way of my creativity with this one.**

* * *

Erik grunted as his body jolted awake. Instantaneously, his eyes searched the room to be certain of his location. There was heat suffusing his face. Deep down in the most intimate part of his body, he felt nothing but a throbbing tightness that could only be caused by one function. …It wasn't a sensation he was _entirely_ unused to... but the only two times that jumped into his memory just then were times best left unexamined. One of his hands had been resting over that uncomfortable strain, and he jerked his hand away as though he could scald himself by keeping it there.

Just resting... that was all his hand had been doing. Thank God… just resting…

Erik gasped anxiously for breath. Acidic bile rose in his throat over just how much control he'd lost in his sleep as his eyes scoured the room.

He was alone.

 _Oh, thank God!_ His mind moaned in relief.

It wasn't that his body was… well… _how_ it was. Arabella was no utterly pure virgin that had no real education on the sexuality of men. If anything, she'd suffered an education of it by people even worse than he himself had ever been. But he didn't know how comfortable – or uncomfortable – she would be seeing him in such a state.

To think she'd been around all these years, watching him.

He hoped that she had been kind enough to leave him alone when under such similar predicaments in the past. He hadn't _always_ been so scrupulous as to leave the 'itch' unattended. One of his only reasons to fight it back even _now_ was that she could walk in on him at any moment and see what he was up to. The other reason was due to the strange cause… the one he couldn't bear to tell her about if she asked.

He _had_ to control this before she came back! _He had to!_

Instead of concentrating on his horror of the nightmare – and his mortification over his aroused state – he concentrated on the sounds drifting in from the parlor. There wasn't much to go by, really. He could hear logs cracking softly in the hearth, and the tiniest hint that Arabella might be back to humming. She was doing _something,_ certainly… but he couldn't identify exactly what.

How had she kept herself occupied all the hours he must have been asleep? He didn't feel as though he could go out into the streets of Paris and attend every party of the social season… but he did feel much rested. As a matter of fact… he felt _strong_ – although he knew it was only in comparison to how he'd felt that morning. He _had_ to have been sleeping for a long time.

 _Is it even the same day?_ There was no clock in here to tell him the hour.

He finally felt some semblance of control, even though his body still ached and throbbed. It wasn't noticeable through all the blankets she'd piled on top of him, though. Not anymore. Maybe it never had been; and he'd simply been too self-conscious about his condition. He hadn't even looked to see; allowing his humiliation to let him assume Arabella would walk in and instantly recognize his condition. Now, at least, he felt he could be seen by other eyes.

"Bella?" he called; with a touch of remaining trepidation. Part of him was half-convinced the nightmare had followed him into reality. He was also ridiculously anxious that her entire return - and Nadir's visit - had all been part of a different dream.

It was only seconds before she stepped into the room. She was dressed as she had been when he last saw her, in that long worn skirt and nearly opaque blouse. But she'd added something… not only a _dicklo_ , but a vest made of the same material. It seemed to be from some of the orange crushed velvet he'd purchased while living in Brussels. At the time, he'd thought the fabric was beautiful... but had never found a good use for it. It was nice to see Arabella wearing it. It was the type of material most would see as ugly - but the color seemed metallic in the light of the lanterns and candles, shimmering over her dark hair and light blouse. The light reflected beautifully off the texture… making her look a little like a walking flame.

 _Always ... she's always a living flame..._

His eyes took her in from head to foot as she stared at him in astonishment and curiosity with a steaming bowl in her hands. She didn't seem to realize how desperately his gaze devoured her. All he could read in her gaze was simple concern. There was nothing at all to suggest discomfort – or as though she were avoiding him due to witnessing (by ear or eye) what he'd just endured in his dreams.

"Erik?" she asked quickly as he continued to drink in her clean and unblemished skin. "What's wrong? Are you all right?"

"Are _you_ all right?" he entreated, his voice raspy and raw.

"Yes, of course…" She looked utterly puzzled as she lowered herself into the nearby seat. "Erik… what's the matter?"

"I…"

 _She's all right! You didn't hurt her!_

He'd _never_ betrayed her...

How _could_ he have? He'd always done everything to _keep her safe_ in the past. He'd _taken care_ of her. His short-lived and tragic affair with Christine had been _years_ afterward. A widower falling love decades after the loss of his wife wasn't a betrayal at all; now was it?

 _Is that was what your dream was about?_ A wicked side of his brain whispered impishly. _You think that was about how much you_ loved _Christine? Are you so sure about that?_

 _Damn you!_ He thought, finding his inner argument ironic and annoying. He was fighting with himself, for God's sake! _I never denied wanting her! Want doesn't negate love!_

There was a long moment of silence as he tried to think on what to tell her. He knew he _could_ tell her the part of his dream that involved Christine – although he'd _never_ go into detail. He'd only recently lost his beloved angel of music. She probably wouldn't blame him _too_ much for dreaming about her. As for the rest of that horror, though? He didn't want to see her face twist in the kind of pain he'd seen in his dream. He _never_ wanted to hurt her like that… even emotionally… It didn't _matter_ that it had just been a dream; or that he wasn't entirely sure how to feel about her existing in his home after so many years after he'd moved on.

This was _Arabella_ … she deserved better than _that_. Whatever else he felt... he knew that he could never allow himself to indiscriminately hurt her.

"I wanted to make sure you were still here." He managed weakly, deciding on a partial lie. The heat and color had finally begun to drain from his face; and the excitement of his body had gone down completely now that he was finally in control of it again. It hurt – _physically_ _**hurt**_ – but he didn't care about that. It wasn't an entirely unfamiliar feeling. He could withstand it.

He watched as she smiled at him, beginning to slowly stir the contents of the bowl in her hands with a fine silver spoon. It was a simple, indulgent smile that showed she was pleased with his desire to know she was nearby - but was trying to keep it to herself.

"I'm here." She assured. "And the stew is ready, if you feel up to eating. I'm sure it will taste better than the drinks I've been feeding you."

The color began to rise into his cheeks again; but this time it was a much milder embarrassment.

"You heard that…?" he muttered.

"Yes." She laughed then, and the bleakness of his dream - and its aftereffects - seemed to dissipate at the sound. "You aren't nearly as quiet as you think, sometimes. Besides, I can't blame you. It's been a while since I've made anything. Maybe I've lost my touch."

Erik's eyes were drawn to the bowl in her hand as the scent of the stew reached his nostrils. Finally, he was fully distracted from his nightmare... but he _did_ wonder just what she meant by his not being quiet. Had he spoken or cried out in his sleep? Did she have even the merest _inkling_ of what had just happened to him and was simply a master at hiding it?

"Only one way to find out…" he sighed; forcing his voice into a low and _obviously_ false grumble..

"Good." Arabella pulled the chair she sat in even closer to the bed, and leaned toward him with the bowl and spoon. "Can you sit up more? Do you need help?"

It turned out that he _didn't_ need help. He forced himself into a more upright position that allowed him to be held up by his pillows and the headboard. He definitely could have been able to feed himself just fine, but neither of them suggested it. For some reason, her tending to him in _this specific way_ wasn't bothersome at all. It actually… well… felt nice. At least this he _knew_ he could have done on his own, if he had chosen to. Having an excuse to keep her close was enough for him to endure the typically shameful sense of being babied. He could continue staring at the proof that he wasn't as vile as his dreams hinted just by sacrificing a tiny bit of pride.

As Arabella cooled off spoonful after spoonful of mushy but adequately tasty stew, he stared at her calm face. Now that he was stronger and rested, taking her in wasn't so bewildering. But he wasn't noticing how the child fought for purchase on her womanly face this time. Instead he noted the softness of her cheeks and arms; all the tiny things that showed she still wasn't _completely_ woman. She might have been endowed with curves a woman in her twenties would envy… but they almost didn't _belong_ on her.

 _She's so young… Were we really that young?_

After a few bites, he found himself uncertainly reaching up to touch the cloth covering the majority of her head. She'd pulled her hair back into a braid at some point, and now he couldn't enjoy the waterfall it had made over her shoulders earlier. Although he'd told her she could have it… he almost wished he hadn't.

 _For so many reasons…_

"I don't understand why it's so important that women keep their hair up or covered, depending on where in the world one lives." he mused - more to himself than to her. His relief over weeing her there and well was giving way to something so much more somber that he resented it. "I've often thought hair to be one of the most attractive qualities in some women… I don't see how bearing it or letting it be touched could be considered improper."

Arabella's eyes flashed open - having been focused on blowing cooler air over the next bite of food he was meant to take. When she realized how close his hand was, she jerked violently in surprise - obviously not having sensed his movement. The stew sloshed out of the spoon and down onto her skirt, causing her to curse quietly. Erik pressed his body into a slightly more upright position, his hand still extended – except now he would have offered assistance.

"Are you hurt?" he worried.

"No, not really." she sighed heavily, rubbing her thumb over the drops left on her skirt after picking off the soft food. Then her palm smoothed over the material, and he could imagine how the action was meant to soothe away the heat that had gotten through to her flesh.

"I'm so sorry..." His voice was strained, and he mentally kicked himself.

He _still_ wasn't in complete control of his emotions.

 _Damn this body's weakened state, and its' side effects!_

"I won't try to do that again." he promised quickly.

"Don't be _ridiculous_ , Erik." Arabella scooped up another spoonful of stew determinedly and met his eyes. "I just didn't realize your hand was there. As my _husband_ , you've every _right_ to touch me if it's what you want to do. _I don't mind_."

Erik's eyes widened and his mouth again went dry. It was obnoxious, how easily she put him off his guard.

She brought the spoon closer to his mouth, but he was so busy gaping at her that he didn't try to accept it. He couldn't remember a single time when Arabella hadn't at least stiffened slightly while he touched her – although she'd tried to remain still and endure it many times. Was he remembering wrong? Had he misinterpreted something back then? He couldn't remember her simply _not minding_.

 _Not until the very end, at least. It must be easy to throw your usual reservations out the window when you're dying._

"Did I say something wrong?" she demanded worriedly, although his lack of attention to the food seemed to puzzle her more than it made her nervous.

"Bella..." Slowly he pushed lightly at her wrist to make her take the food away. He didn't want it hanging over the blanket all day. That risked staining it. He was no longer hungry, anyways. A side effect of starvation, no doubt.

 _I_ knew _if I gave her leave to make a dicklo…_

 _Maybe I_ am _as vile as in my nightmares. How could I_ encourage _this… even for a_ moment _?_

"I honestly don't _know_ what we are right now." He confessed.

His words hurt her; he could tell it instantly. He'd known he would before even speaking; but he hadn't been able to let her believe life was simply going to start where they'd essentially left off… He hadn't been honest in order to hurt her... but so that he couldn't hurt her far worse in the near or distant future. It would have been a terrible way to repay her goodness.

She didn't turn away, in spite of her pain; and her face didn't fall in dejection. Instead, she managed a pained smirk that made him _immensely_ proud of her. She'd always had a certain amount of steel in her before; but it had almost never been useful in self-preservation of _any_ kind.

He respected this growth in her beyond measure.

"Death doesn't negate marriage." she murmured. "I realize you've been a widower for a very long time… but I'm no less a bride… _Your_ bride… It makes _you_ no less a husband, either, Erik. It only means that things are complicated... and complications are nothing new for us."

 _Now_ he felt something toward her… something so much clearer than anything else since her arrival... and he welcomed it. It certainly wasn't as terrible as the guilt his dream had evoked; so he embraced the sensation he could feel _toward_ her – as he was unable to embrace direct feeling _for_ her.

 _It hurt so much!_

She wasn't at fault for it. He even _deserved_ it, after what he'd said to her moments earlier. But that didn't _stop_ it from hurting.

 _All these years... staying by me... watching as I became a monster..._

Slowly he passed a hand down over his face. His fingers trembled as they hovered over his quivering mouth.

 _Now she's nursing me back to health again when she knows I still love Chris... and... and..._

He felt Arabella lightly touch his wrist; and it became his turn to flinch while making certain his hand continued to hide some of his face. He was ashamed of his inability to instantly open his arms and welcome her back the way she deserved. He _wanted_ to. He _really did_. But that would simply be _cruel_ ; considering the selfish place it would be coming from. He didn't love her now _the way he had_ … and he _still_ loved _Christine_. She deserved better than to be treated like a pretty distraction.

 _What kind of perseverance she has! Why couldn't_ **I** _be so stubbornly loyal? Why did I_ _ **forget**_ _what I once had? Why did none of it_ matter _once the Khanum tested me with that little slave girl… and gave me that first taste of innocent blood? How could I spend all this time feeling as if no one has literally_ ever _…_

 _But… but even remembering doesn't change things!_

Very slowly, he lifted his eyes from his hand to stare at Arabella with watery eyes. He couldn't ask her to stay under any false pretenses that their status was anywhere near what it had been.

He reached out, his fingertips brushing one of her cheeks before the heel of his hand cupped her jawline.

It was the most unconscious action he'd ever taken in his life; and even realizing he did it didn't stop him. Her face was warm to the touch, and smooth.

And she didn't flinch away this time... She leaned into his touch this time - even if only a little.

To see Arabella's eyes light up from his touch as though an enormous furnace had been ignited within them almost warmed _him_. Nothing like that had _ever_ happened before; _not even_ with her. Not to such a noticeable degree, at least. He'd seen her happy, and seen her eyes light up… yes… but **_never_ ** because of his touch!

There was such _hope_ in those eyes... Such a painful and _fragile_ hope!

Although he wanted to share that hope with her – the idea that she might be more than a loving distraction after enough time allowed him to heal - he _couldn't_ let her exist with a false sense of it.

 _Put an end to this._ He scolded himself. _Stop thinking in circles!_

He shouldn't have told her to make that head scarf. In that moment, the hair covering was a taunting lie to both of them.

…But he couldn't very well ask her to remove it! He was certain it would feel – to her – like his mask being forcibly removed felt to _him_. He could be selfish… and cruel… but not so outright _sadistic_. Not to _her_.

"I'm _so_ _ **sorry**_ , _ma belle_..." he breathed, removing his hand from her soft skin.

" _Why_?" she asked.

"I'm not the man you deserve."

"Hmmm…" She turned her face away a little, as though thinking his words over very seriously. It carried her soft cheek away from his palm, and he drew back. When her eyes shifted back to him, she gave another mild but almost impish smile. "Don't you think it's up to _me_ to decide who is worthy of me and who isn't?"

"But I don't _feel_ -"

"I understand that." she interrupted quickly. "Erik… I _**know**_ you don't feel like I do... and that we can't be what we once _were._ But it's all right."

"How can it _possibly_ be all right?" he demanded, feeling the partial lie she offered all the way in the depths of his soul.

"I don't know." She admitted. "But I want to try to find out… After all… you must still feel _something_ good for me.'

He couldn't help it. The glint in her eyes made him roll his eyes and offer the tiniest of sarcastic smiles.

"Where's your proof of _that, ma belle_?" He demanded.

"Firstly, you wouldn't have called me in here to make sure I hadn't disappeared if my whereabouts didn't matter to you." She stated.

It surprised him when she leaned in far over the bed; so that her face was only a few inches from his. Erik almost shrank back into his pillows; not certain what she was up to and thus uncertain as to whether or not he liked it. He couldn't think of the last time they'd been this physically close while both of healthy mind and body. It made his choked-up throat suddenly go painfully dry.

"Anything else?" he challenged – almost weakly. Arabella had not been _quite_ this bold in her past.

To his shock, she leaned even closer. His hands, resting on either side of his body, pressed down convulsively against the blanketed mattress.

 _Who_ is _this woman?_ he thought in bewilderment as her lips parted very close to one of his ears. His eyes closed and a shuddering breath escaped his mouth. Her simple action nearly undid all his careful self-control of minutes before. His body almost… _almost_ … rebelled against him.

 _One does not have to be madly in love to be inspired by lust..._

He forced his mind into still quiet. He couldn't afford such thoughts! Down that tempting road was nothing but pain and disaster. Arabella deserved far more; and he had absolutely no reason to believe she understood how she affected him. She could have been being playful rather than seductive, and not even realized what her body was inspiring. Yes, she was aware of sexuality - _uncomfortably_ aware - but that didn't mean she completely understood how easily _he_ could be affected by her closeness alone.

"Only a _very_ lucky woman could make you forget that you haven't been wearing your mask the whole time I've been here."

His eyes snapped open again, and he simply _stared_ at her. One hand lifted to touch his cheek again, as though only noticing his naked skin for the first time.

Good God… she was absolutely right. He hadn't even questioned the absence of his mask when _Nadir_ had been in the room! He'd thought nothing _of_ it! Even Nadir's common flinch at the sight of his old friends' naked face had inspired absolutely no self-disgust.

"And…" she continued. "…maybe we can find something stronger and better to share."

Swallowing thickly, he forced himself to nod.

" _Maybe_ …"

Arabella seemed quite pleased with herself – although he was still trying to figure out exactly who this gypsy siren was. She certainly wasn't the wilting flower of a wife he'd known! He was just beginning to move from blank shock to hard suspicion that maybe she _did_ have an inkling of what she was doing to him.

"Will you eat a little more?" she asked, reaching out to place a hand over the stew bowl as she pulled away. Erik was tempted to reach up and cover his face with his hands now that he'd become conscious of its absence… but he forced himself to keep his hands still. He could only watch as her softly pleading eyes fluttered briefly in his direction. " _Please_?"

 _Good God! Thirty years has certainly emboldened her! Did she learn how to bat her eyes so prettily from Christine? Or one of the ballet girls?_

 _Maybe there's another woman between us… but that's apparently not going to hold her back from... from..._

Honestly; he couldn't blame her. He would have never let _anything_ hold him back if he'd been given this chance within the first few years after the loss of her. She'd been with him all these years. _She_ hadn't moved on. _Of course_ she wouldn't let anything hold her back now that she could interact with him again.

"I think I can manage a little more." He conceded, reaching out to gently take the bowl and spoon from her hand. "Then; I would very much like to clean and change - after I use the water closet."

Arabella smiled at him softly; and handed over the bowl.

"I'd like to have my mask-" He admitted reluctantly, taking a bite of the stew he wasn't really hungry for.

"-Erik-!"

"- _Just_ _**nearby**_ …" he clarified quickly, looking at her carefully. "…In case of other uninvited guests."

" _Nadir_ didn't seem to mind."

"Nadir is good at covering his discomfort." Erik chuckled bitterly. "That doesn't mean I should make him squirm."

"Oh, _please_ , Erik." Arabella laughed. "You _love_ to make that man squirm!"

"Ah, well, I'd rather it be under different terms. Something physically deliberate on my part."

 _We both know…_ he thought with another pang. _We both know it isn't Nadir's appearance I want to be prepared for._

Sighing, Erik forced down a few more bites of food before placing the bowl to the side and beginning to throw off the blankets. It was painful to realize the restoration of his strength was also bringing back a vague but renewed hope of Christine's impossible return.

He didn't know if he could really handle himself in a deep hot bath. But it had been so long since he'd washed that a good long soak was desperately necessary. A simple wash in front of the basin would be worthless to him, especially with all the leaning over he'd need to do under those circumstances. It would be almost guaranteed to give him a concussion or other injury in the process. He knew he could stand and walk by now – he could feel that much in his rested and fed muscles – but not for long periods. Even sitting up in the bath would prove tricky enough.

But he probably shouldn't be left alone in case something happened… if his tired and strained muscles tried to give out on him, or he fell asleep…

It wasn't so much embarrassing as awkward – given their uncertain status and past history – but it seemed like he was going to have to ask Arabella to stay nearby, at the very least. The last thing he wanted was to stubbornly insist on being alone only to injure himself and require an even longer period of being laid up in that infernal bed.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Hope you all weren't expecting me to drop the melodrama. Based on where my brain is, it's not going anywhere any time soon. And... holy crow... this chapter took a turn even _I_ didn't expect. I might not NEED the darker elements later on. I might not even need to draw the story out for ages and ages! We'll see! (Arabella has control of this situation - not me. I just do what the Gypsy Princess says)**

 **And Happy Thanksgiving to my fellow Americans! I hope you had a great time with family/friends and good food! I had ham. (yeah, I know. Ham on Turkey Day. It's a travesty!)**

* * *

Days had passed. The bath had occurred without much in terms of awkwardness or embarrassment, and Erik had returned to a bed that Arabella had taken the time to freshen while he soaked. She'd brought him another bowl of stew, although the second one was much smaller, and a _very_ small amount of wine to enjoy with it. There had been very little conversation at first; neither knowing exactly what to say since so many other sentiments had already been expressed.

Arabella had desperately wanted to tell her husband about the voice that had spoken to her while he slept… but hadn't wanted to worry him while he was still so weak. Then, there had been the hard emotional punch in the gut of knowing he couldn't bring himself to admit any present feelings on her behalf. It wasn't as though she'd expected any differently… but it had still hurt. And of course… what if he thought she was only imagining things? Even being faced with spontaneous resurrection, Erik was far too skeptical about things that couldn't be explained to simply understand the fear the voice in her head had created. Unless he heard the voice _himself_ … she didn't believe he'd be able to think she was anything more than a little crazy.

Believing in her physical, tangible resurrection was not anywhere _near_ the same as believing the voice in her head was real. People heard voices that weren't actually there all the time, after all.

So she'd told him nothing. She didn't even try very hard to have a conversation of _any_ kind with him for the following three days. They spoke about his comfort, whether or not he could accomplish certain tasks as they arose, and, if he was bored; what she could bring him to alleviate the tedium of slowly regaining his strength. The last pieces of conversation had been easy enough to solve – he had told her what he needed to implement as a desk while sitting upright in bed, and she'd brought ink and paper for him to compose with. He didn't work with frenetic passion; as though he'd been inspired to write… but he did toy around with some melodies and themes.

When she was tired, she curled up on the divan in the parlor and napped. Smaller than even the least accommodating of cots, it wasn't easy to get particularly restful sleep. The exhaustion began to make her clumsier; and her thoughts were more fragmented. But if she _appeared_ tired in any way, Erik didn't seem to take any notice. He didn't even ask what she was using for a bed. Surely he must have _assumed_ she was using the divan. The large black sofa by the coffin bed in his room was no longer whole enough to lie on.

Her weariness also kept her reticent, not wanting to fight for him when her head wasn't clear. She knew she could overstep the boundaries he'd already set just by not thinking clearly. Deciding to suddenly play a psychological game of flirtation wouldn't end well under such conditions.

"Erik…" she found herself saying on the fourth day; when he was finally strong enough to leave Christine's room for a long stretch and sit by his piano to work. He'd been fiddling away at the piano keys for over two hours, occasionally jotting down a note or two to keep in mind for future, more developed ideas. Nothing that she could consider real _music_ had escaped him yet. "Are you all right?"

"Yes." He responded instantly, looking at her sideways – as he so often did now.

"Are you having trouble thinking of music you want to play?"

"It's nothing like that." he murmured, gluing his eyes quickly to his hands as they sat poised over the ivories. "The music I _can_ think of hurts…"

"Hurts?" Her brow furrowed in momentary confusion. "Do you mean like when your music used to make my dancing more passionate?"

She could remember the dances she used to perform as he sang or played an instrument – often both at once. He'd always been able to inspire the most intimate emotions within her during those times. She'd personally _seen_ just what his music could do to others, and how he almost seemed to hold people in thrall like a master hypnotist. Maybe the music he was composing or thinking of was a violent type… a kind that lashed out specifically at him…

"Almost." He admitted with a weak smirk – a terribly sad expression. "But I'm more worried about _you_ feeling its effects. You don't need the pain I can create."

"I _always_ feel your pain." Arabella stated immediately. "Music has nothing to do with it. I _always_ feel your pain – because I hate the fact that you have to feel it _at all_."

"No." Erik shook his head quickly in denial. "No, that isn't right. You shouldn't do that to yourself."

"I don't do it to myself. I can't control what I feel when the man I love is in pain, Erik."

"Stop saying that."

His voice had gone suddenly raspy, and Arabella's curious eyes realized he had pressed his fingers down on the ivory keys of the piano so hard that what little color existed in his body had isolated itself into specific pressure points. It had drained from the rest of his hands. He'd done it quickly; but not with enough immediate pressure to make his piano sing.

"What do you mean?" she demanded. "Don't say _what_ , Erik? I don't understand."

"Stop giving me so much." He nearly hissed. "I don't want you to give me what I cannot return!"

"Erik; the fact that you _have_ concern about whether or not I'm in pain proves that you _do_ have something to return. You _do_ care." She argued.

"Of _course_ I care!" Erik's voice rose from a rasp to a sudden thunder. "I spent _years_ caring! Why didn't you come back _then_?"

"I didn't know _how_!" she desperately tried to explain; her mind thrown into instant confusion over what seemed like a shift in topic. But Erik wasn't really hearing her. Apparently the pain he was trying not to unleash on her was spilling over; coming out as Erik's emotions so usually did as anger. But she didn't understand why he was suddenly so irate over something thirty years behind him.

"Why didn't you come back when I had every _reason_ to remember you, standing in front of me, in _**Italy**_? Why couldn't you be there to take away the _revulsion_ Giovanni's daughter caused merely by looking so damned _similar_ _to you_?"

Arabella had gone cold at the beginning of his outburst. His anger was so out of control at times that she had every reason to be nervous when it showed itself. But instead of shrinking away or letting him remain in silence, she slowly stood from the divan that had become her nightly bed and stepped closer to the piano. Erik wasn't looking at her, and she doubted he even knew she'd risen. Carefully, she placed a steadying hand on the black glossy surface of the piano.

"I don't know what you mean." She said quietly; her voice quavering slightly. "Luciana… reminded you … _of_ _me_?"

He glanced up sharply, but didn't seem overly surprised at her nearness. She'd been taking time to get _closer_ to him physically over the past days whenever it was strictly feasible. She hadn't _leaned overly close_ as she had that first time; or _flirted_ … but she had tried to accustom the both of them to once more being near together. So far, it had had less than satisfactory results. Erik kept pulling back as though she were going to burn him with her touch.

His eyes were burning now behind the mask he'd _insisted_ on wearing when he stepped into the parlor. He'd not yet been ready to walk around the entire house without it; although she hoped that would change. Granted, he'd lived alone for years, but he'd never hesitated to walk around unmasked before she appeared – except with Christine around, of course. It was almost as though her teasing that he'd _forgotten_ his mask had made him decide to prove her wrong.

"Of course she did! The darker olive-toned skin, the slim build with budding curves – although hers were far less noticeable than yours. Then there was her dark hair, even though it had no real red or brown in it. She even had your _eyes_ , Bella!"

Arabella began to blink furiously, trying to recall the Italian girl that had caused such tragedy in Erik's life. As far as she was concerned, Luciana had stolen far more from Erik than she _ever_ had. Erik had finally had a father – a home and sort of family. He had honest work; even if his time was troubled. Then Luciana had begun to nearly throw herself at him in her own way; and had insulted and harassed him until her tragic death… which had cost Erik everything he'd gained.

"s _that_ why you were so interested in her?" she asked breathlessly.

" _ **What**_? You think I _enamored_ of her?" He gave another of those harsh laughs that sounded painful. "She was a lovely little creature – physically at least. There was _plenty_ to be interested in… but the rest of her? Bella… the _only_ thing about her I liked was how much she reminded me of you!"

"But you… You _seemed_ to _like_ her."

"No!" he denied vehemently, rising to his feet and pacing a little away from her. "How _could_ I? She would open that lovely little mouth of hers; and I'd have to remember just how _different_ you were! I could _never_ pretend – even for a _moment_ – that she was _you._ Not once she came into a room! Her spoiled little – she ruined _everything_!"

Arabella's mouth dropped open, and she stared at Erik in utter shock. Knowing that Erik had been remembering her when looking at another girl had been a little touching. It had made her feel as though she might have actually been _cherished_ a little by her husband. But she had never guessed for a single _moment_ that he'd been trying to fantasize her back to life. To put all that pressure onto a spoiled but mainly innocent girl who had no inkling of the darkness in Erik's past already… it wasn't something she could wrap her head around.

"Why?" he pleaded again. "Why weren't you sent back to me _then_?"

"I… I don't know." She scrambled to collect her thoughts. "But – Erik – I _am_ here _now_!"

" _It's too **late**_!" Erik bellowed, pressing the heels of his palms to his temples. "Don't you _understand_ that, Bella? _I am_ _ **not**_ your husband now! I'm just a stupid old fool with blood all over his hands, living in a goddamned _crypt_!"

Scowling, Arabella strode around the piano and the bench he'd vacated. She placed herself firmly in front of him and reached up to seize his arms, yanking his hands down from his head and shaking him. Her strength was nothing to his, so she achieved very little in her efforts – but the simple fact she tried made Erik's eyes go enormous behind his protective mask.

She had never wanted to shred that cloth from his face so badly before. That simple physical thing represented so many of his emotional and mental walls that his merely _wearing_ it kept them solidly in place where they didn't belong. After this tirade, she was completely _insulted_ by its' presence.

"I _**know**_ who and what you are!" she shouted back. Her voice sounded angry, and she was sure that this startled him even more than her bold shaking of his body. But she didn't _feel_ angry. She still felt _cold_ , and now she even felt _drained_. "But _I'm still here_!"

Erik slowly lowered his hands, staring at her as though she'd spoken a foreign language that had had yet to master. No… it was _worse_. He was staring at her as though he couldn't hear _any_ sound she made. She felt like she was only mouthing her words at him, with no reference for him to properly translate her message.

"Erik…" she whispered painfully. "I'm _here_ _ **now**_. I'm _sorry_ I wasn't there before. I _wanted_ to be! I _truly_ did… I'm so sorry you had to go so long thinking you were alone… but even without me, you weren't _always_ alone. I know she was an inane brat… but Luciana was there, and she really was doing her best. And you had Giovanni, and Nadir."

"They were never you…" he admitted in a barely audible breath.

"Neither was Christine." She pointed out as gently as possible.

"Don't-"

"-I _have_ to." She pressed. "I can't stand here and pretend you aren't going to compare me to her… that you won't look at me every single day and wish I were _her_."

"I _don't_ -"

"-Just like you didn't with Luciana?"

"-I _didn't_ -"

" _Yes_ , you _did_."

She could feel his body literally thrumming beneath her clutching hands. His own fingers were bent into claws at his sides by this point, and his head was shaking slightly – frantically – from side-to-side. She cautiously took a step back, realizing he was close to snapping and not knowing exactly what kind of emotion had brought him so close to _what_ edge. Considering almost all of his emotions manifested as rage… it wasn't wise to give him so little physical space when also giving him so little _emotional_ space.

"You said it yourself – you wanted to pretend that _she_ was _me_. You were _comparing_ her to me, Erik."

"No. I was trying to _replace_ you! She _couldn't **be**_ you – but I'd have taken what I could!"

The silence between them when Erik bellowed that was … a terrible form of awesome. She had no idea how to respond to such a blatant truth… and clearly Erik didn't think he could break the silence, either. He stood panting before her, his body shaking and threatening to give out so that he might have to return to the bedroom and rest again.

 _I am replaceable?_ She thought in bewilderment. _Not just someone who's loss could be gotten over… but replaced with the next best_ substitute _?_

"Using _her_?" she found herself whimpering.

Erik opened his mouth, his eyes dancing behind the mask in such a way that suggested even _he_ wasn't sure what his response would be. But he was spared the necessity to speak when a buzzing suddenly began by the front door – one of the alarms Erik had set up years before to alert him when someone was on or near the lake. Their heads jerked in the direction of the noise, and Arabella used it as an excuse to step even further away from him. It would only go off for a few seconds – something Erik had set up long before meeting Christine. Long and obnoxious noises hurt his head – just as they hurt anyone's – and it was the kind of grating sounds that could carry to otherwise unaware intruders.

"That's… probably Nadir." She murmured. "It's been a few days. He said he'd come back."

"And you _encouraged_ him to do it?" Erik demanded.

"I'll go across and get him."

"No." Erik snapped, stalking by her when she headed for the door. His gruffness all but knocked her out of his way. " _I'll_ do it."

"You don't need to irritate anyone else today."

He paused by the door, his shoulders stiffening before a heavy sigh allowed them to slump.

"I'll try to be civil." He muttered before ducking outside.

Arabella found herself staring at the doorway for what felt like hours, not quite able to find a way to soothe the pain Erik had left behind.

 _ **You want**_ **that** _ **monster? Honestly?**_

"No!" she hissed; more in response to the voice returning to her head than anything else. "Go _away_!"

 _ **Why? Because I'm trying to help?**_

"Help?" Arabella scoffed. "You never did anything to help!"

 _ **Without my help, your precious husband would have died in my Uncle's cage. I fed him for you, and brought him the medicines you wanted me to. And all it cost was some friendly conversation.**_

"You _slimy_ …" Arabella shook her head violently. "Get out of my head! _You_ tried to _rape_ me! You have _no right_ to judge him! Don't you _dare_ tell me it cost us nothing!"

 _ **Is that why you assume I'm just taunting you? Because your dearly devoted monster murdered me?**_

Arabella shuddered, hugging her arms to herself and turning to the fireplace for warmth as the front door finally opened again. She wanted – desperately – to shut the voice out. She knew she couldn't continue reacting to it with Erik and Nadir around to hear. She hadn't even told Erik about it yet. Now, it was obvious she'd have to, since it had returned. But she didn't have to do it immediately; or in front of Nadir.

She glared at the fireplace, her body as tightly wound as a spring. Her hands balled into useless little fists at her sides and she struggled to breathe evenly. The last thing she'd needed was that voice in her head; taunting her and mocking her choices when she was already angry and hurt… and questioning the wisdom of whatever had allowed her return in the first place.

" _Mademoiselle_ Arabella." Nadir murmured from near the door, as Erik silently played a halfway decent host and hung his friends' cloak. "It is lovely to see you again."

Taking in a steadying breath, Arabella forced herself to turn with a small smile.

"Hello, _Daroga_." She greeted; her voice briefly catching. "I didn't think you'd be back _this_ soon."

Nadir had stepped closer to greet her; but now hesitated as he took her in. Erik brushed past him, momentarily blocking his view as he stalked toward the piano without daring to look in Arabella's direction.

"…It's been a few days. Perhaps longer than you even realize. I understand living under the Opera can be disorienting. Are you all right? You look…"

"Don't you _dare_ say tired." Arabella mock warned quickly. "I already know I look terrible."

"No…" he shook his head, taking another step forward, glancing at Erik with a slight glare. "That isn't it."

"It's been a difficult few days." She admitted as lightly as possible. "But _you_ – you look well."

"Thank you…"

"What stimulating conversation." Erik muttered.

"You aren't helping any." She pointed out brusquely. "Excuse me. I'll go make us all some tea."

Erik's groan of disapproval almost made her laugh. She had been getting better with the tea – particularly since it didn't need to be the black and sugary concoction of her first day there. Erik had actually seemed to approve of her efforts just that morning. Surely his reaction was pure sarcasm; mocking the disgust he'd shown at the start. But she couldn't quite bring herself to laugh. She was still too tense.

"I see you've been working on your charm." Nadir accused as the kitchen door shut behind her. "It's one thing to be short with me – _I'm_ used to it. But that _poor girl_?"

Arabella shut out the ensuing conversation, concentrating the best she could on the task at hand. She didn't need to hear an argument between two stubborn old men. She had enough of her own issues to work through. Erik' insult still stung; even though she thought by now that maybe he hadn't meant _exactly_ the words he'd spoken. He hadn't tried to clarify his meaning, though, so how could she know? Erik had done what Erik _always_ did. He ran away from an uncomfortable topic – one made invariably worse because it had been circling around an even more painful subject – his precious Christine.

 _ **You don't like her much, do you?**_

 _Oh, please leave me alone! I don't need your help!_

 _ **If you say so**_ **chavi** _ **. But I'd say anyone who wants**_ **Erik** _ **would need all the help they can**_ **get** _ **.**_

 _I am no little girl!_

Arabella nearly slammed the kettle she'd been filling in the tiny sink down onto the stove before remembering that she needed to start a fire in the little wood stove. Erik had suspended an air duct over the fire so that the smoke from his cooking would rise into the ventilation system of the Opera House; needing only a few dozen yards of material to let it connect to a shaft directly overhead. His shortcuts and inventing ways of cheating had always astounded her. It was just too bad that head didn't fall very well, so forcing air from the furnace to his house below the basements had not been overly feasible and option.

 _ **I'll bet you are to him. He was having enough trouble seeing Christine as more than pretty flesh with a potentially golden voice if you ask me. She was so young… but**_ **you're** _ **even younger.**_

 _You… no… you_ can't _have been watching him this_ whole time!

 _ **Of**_ **course** _ **I have. I've been here since the day your Frenchman took my life.**_

 _It's your own fault!_

 _ **Did I claim otherwise?**_

This drew Arabella up short. As frightening as having Adnah's voice in her mind had been, she had never stopped to truly try and interpret his words or the tone they were spoken in. She heard him in her head, and automatically she presumed he meant her ill. What else was she supposed to think; given their last meeting? But… he hadn't claimed anyone was responsible for the way he died – other than the fact that Erik had been the one to kill him… and that had been true enough. He hadn't done more than ask her questions and make comments that she herself had been on the verge of thinking.

 _Are you haunting Erik… or me?_

Adnah decided to keep that answer to himself. Of course, the distraction of Adnah's annoying comments and questions was suddenly gone; and she could again hear the two men in the parlor having a somewhat heated but low – and apparently still civil – debate. She didn't want to know what it was really about… but she was also morbidly curious. Still… she tried for a very long time to resist listening in. She knew the old adage about those who eavesdropped on conversations, and was quite certain that what she heard would only bother her further.

"… no way of understanding."

"If you would just _help_ me understand, Erik-"

"Leave _off_ , _Daroga_!"

"But-"

"-Has there been any news of Christine or the Vicomte?"

Arabella shuddered, closing her eyes with a weary shake of her head. She tried to tell herself that it had only been a few days since her return. Erik had already told her that he didn't know what they could ever be to each other after such a loss. He hadn't encouraged – nor discouraged – her affection. She had no right to expect his love of Christine to fade after such a short time. When Erik loved… he loved with all he had, and all he was. Love like that couldn't just fade overnight.

 _ **But you didn't believe him when he said he hurt over your loss for**_ **years** _ **, did you?**_

Leave it to Adnah to try and pour salt in the sores covering her soul. She refused to acknowledge him; not even to wonder just how he was able to hear her thoughts and speak to her mind. There were too many ways in which it would open up a labyrinth of doors to other questions. She didn't want to wonder about the world – or worlds – beyond life. She hadn't even really thought there was one… but if Adnah had been haunting either her or Erik since his death and she hadn't even sensed him after her own death, then that surely implied there were a great many levels; with rules she couldn't hope to understand.

 _Please…_ _ **please**_ _go away…_

 _ **I can't.**_

 _Then just be silent! I don't want your opinions or questions!_

"…gone." The Persian was continuing from something she'd missed in the conversation.

"So… so…" Erik sounded thoughtful; his voice at such an octave that Arabella's curiosity immediately became riveted on him again. "What is she doing now? Where will she live? What will she do?"

"I don't know. I would at least tell you if I did. Honestly, I don't think you should _care_."

"How can I just _not care_?"

"Do you really think I'm that blind and stupid, Erik?" Nadir's voice rose angrily. "I didn't press you before because you were sick. But even when you refuse to answer my questions, I'm not a fool! All I had to do was step into this room, and I saw something is between you and this new girl who has taken such attentive and gentle care of you!"

"You were here for five minutes!" Erik thundered. "What do _you_ know of it?"

"I've seen similar looks on other faces!" Nadir pointed out. "There may not have been many people offered the chance to be in love in the circumstances I lived in; but I experienced it. I witnessed it. Even given her youth; _that girl loves you_! However – _whenever_ – you met her… _she loves you_!"

"And why wouldn't she?" Erik retorted. It wasn't ego speaking, though. Arabella could hear the self-hatred and angry mockery in his voice. "I'm Don Giovanni, aren't I? I'm Don Juan – no - I'm _Casanova_! I'm every last one of them all rolled up into an irresistible recipe of passion and romance! All the women I run into instantly want me!"

"You are _insufferable_." Nadir sighed wearily. "I am trying to tell you to open your eyes and appreciate what's in front of you instead of what's in your past, and-"

"-Arabella _is_ my past."

Oh, she could just _imagine_ Nadir's reaction to _that_ phrase. If she weren't listening so intently, Arabella might have giggled.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Arabella _is my past_." Erik repeated – slowly and distinctly. "I knew her… once… further back than you can even _conceive_."

Arabella turned away from the door to find the kettle of water sending up billowing clouds of white steam. With a low curse, she hurried over and quickly started digging around for a small towel so that she wouldn't burn herself lifting the copper vessel. She nearly burned herself anyway; but this time she at least managed to avoid it. Within less than two minutes, she had the three cups on a tray with milk from the ice box and sugar from the pantry. The milk she'd gotten after venturing above into the Opera House during her sleepless hours the previous evening. She doubted Erik even realized she'd left – and nearly gotten lost twice on her journey.

"…can't figure out how to-" Erik was ranting as she pushed her way into the parlor.

He must have seen the door move before she even stepped from the kitchen, for everything went quite suddenly still and silent. She felt heat and color creep up into her face as she placed the tray down on a low table by the divan, and began to dole out the tea and appropriate sugar or milk as Erik and Nadir said they would take it. The entire time, she felt Nadir's eyes boring curiously into her.

Erik didn't seem even able to _look_ at her. He didn't even take the tea once she'd made it to his specifications; and she'd had to leave it on the tray to cool.

Once she was sitting on the divan beside Nadir, she dared to take a slow look at him from the corner of her eyes. When he realized she was seeing him stare, he nervously cleared his throat and offered an uncomfortable chuckle.

"I'd ask if Erik has been behaving himself; but we both know he never does."

This caused Nadir to break out in a genuine smile – particularly because Erik's response was a roll of his eyes and an annoyed groan.

"So… how much has he told you?"

"… Not much…" the Persian admitted slowly. "He says you've known one another for a while; and that you only very recently found yourself in each other's lives again."

"That's a fair enough assessment." Arabella sighed and lifted her eyes to Erik. "For now. Did you mention _exactly_ –"

"- _No_." her husband barked quickly. "After the conversation we already had about _that_ … I don't see the _point_ in telling him those specifics yet."

"Well… I suppose it's better to simply say that I'm not here to take Christine's _untouchable_ place."

Erik flinched, and Arabella instantly felt guilt crawl down her spine and into her gut. Although Erik had hurt her before with his thoughtless words of frustration; this retaliation was simply beneath her. It certainly wasn't going to help her get any closer to Erik, and earn his real love again. She'd been holding back from touching him or offering words – even insinuations – of love until their fight had begun. To suddenly throw her non-existent status into his face was cruel.

 _ **Sometimes we need to be cruel.**_

 _Oh, go_ away _!_

"Did I hear you talking about Christine?" she asked curiously, desperate to change the subject. But then she realized how, again, she'd picked one of the worst possible topics … and began chewing on her lower lip.

"Yes…" Nadir admitted. "It turns out the wedding has not happened yet. The Vicomte was ordered onto a ship heading for the North Pole…"

"He was?" Arabella felt a cold in the pit of her stomach, but it was distant. The very fact that the rest of her abdomen seemed to become a stormy, frothy sea did not help her state. "I thought they were going to marry immediately. That's the impression I was given about everything that happened."

"I suspect his family could have had something to do with that." Erik mumbled. "Not a single one of them would appreciate his marriage…"

"And… Christine?" she ventured uncertainly.

"No one knows, really. It is assumed she is either living in her future home with her future brother-in-law as a more-or-less ward… or she's returned to her flat in the city."

"No one knows if she's being supported by them, or if she needs to find work, then?"

"She would not need to find work." Erik murmured. "If that fop left her to fend for herself; I'd give her what she needed."

"I'm sure you would." Arabella agreed; trying very hard to keep her voice even. At least this was exactly the kind of response she would always have expected from him. Even years from now, if they were madly in love with an actual family, Erik would still feel enough tenderness toward Christine to help her if she needed aid. "But no one knows where she is."

"I'm sure _Mademoiselle_ Daae will be able to care for herself just fine." Nadir assured them both. "She's quite a bit more resourceful than you seem to have ever given her credit for, Erik. One thing I do know is that _something_ happened with the Opera management. It seems they had lunch with the Vicomte and his fiancé before he left on his ship. There was an article about it in the paper, with all sorts of speculation as to whether or not she would be returning to the stage."

"But?" Erik pressed.

"But…" Nadir sighed. "There was an unknown third party that the reporter couldn't identify. That doesn't sound like something encouraging Christine's return."

"It sounds like a lawyer." Erik grunted

Arabella stood slowly, chewing her lower lip in order to move around the small table to stand by Erik.

"What if she did return?" she asked quietly.

Erik didn't miss the slight quaver in her voice. In spite of their heated words earlier, and the continued tension between them, his eyes snapped over to her face to examine her as one hand snuck out just long enough to brush the back of his hand against hers. It was a brief moment of attempted reassurance that didn't quite succeed at making her feel any better – but at least he made the attempt.

"I am sure she would have a successful career." He murmured. "My days manipulating her career are over… she can… handle herself now…"

"I'll believe that when I see it."

"You don't really feel that way."

Arabella and Nadir glanced at each other in surprise, and then burst out into soft but genuine laughter at their simultaneous words.

"I like this woman." Nadir told Erik simply after a moment. "She _knows_ you. Pretty words aren't going to be enough to fool _this_ one."

" _Thank_ you, Daroga."

"You're most welcome, _Mademoiselle_."

She was surprised when Erik's hand brushed hers once more. Experimentally she twisted her palm to see if he would let her twine their fingers – and he almost seemed to let her. She could sense the very deep need in him for that connection – even if it didn't amount to acknowledging their marriage and his love. But, in the end, he jerked ever-so-slightly away and averted his gaze further from hers.

 _ **He admitted that you could be replaced – and you**_ **still** _ **-**_

This time, Arabella somehow managed to shove the invading voice from her mind.

 _He loved Christine and me differently._ She mused. _He had the versatility of mind when I died to search for someone new to soothe his grief. And I was_ not _replaceable. He only_ wanted _me to be._

* * *

 _ **Chavi – Romani for Little Girl**_


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: I know I ALWAYS leave mistakes no matter how hard I try. But I really don't have the eyesight to even review this and edit it. I'm sorry guys but I've been having daily headaches and eye issues. Stress, y'know? *Sigh* Anyways, I hope you'll forgive me, and I hope you enjoy this chapter! And don't worry, a little sweetness coming up soon(ish)!**

* * *

The visit with Nadir took place over less than an hours' time; and when Erik returned him to the world above he was gone for a long time. Arabella did the only thing she could even think to do with herself – keep house – while eventually agonizing over what could be keeping him for so long. She wondered if, perhaps, the news of Christine's continued status as an unmarried woman encouraged his continued pining for her. Or, maybe, just discussing her had been enough for Erik to need time alone to mourn her again - and not just miss her.

Adnah's voice had returned; giving his typically skeptical remarks about Erik; but she ignored him the best she could. She found it so odd how he could read her thoughts… something she'd never been able to do with Erik – or anyone – while she was in spirit form herself. But she didn't want to linger on any thoughts of the man who'd died to trying to assault her.

When Erik did return, he was covered in sweat and nearly stumbling in order to move.

"Next time we have a visitor… I'll let you take one of the trips across." He murmured when she demanded to know what was happening. "At least until I'm at full strength again. I'm _exhausted_."

She'd insisted he lay on the divan. Then she'd talked briefly about what to make for supper that evening, and hurried to begin preparing it. Erik was not quite as easy with her as he'd been before their odd fight had started… he wasn't looking at her face or into her eyes – _again_. This time, it was worse… but she simply took into account that they _had_ a quasi-fight, and that he _was_ physically exhausted.

It was evening when she accidentally awoke Erik from his impromptu nap. She'd been trying to pull a small roast from the oven – one of the portions of meat she'd bought on her brief journey out - when the small pot of whole potatoes she had burning on the stove top started to boil over and sizzle everywhere. In a moment of panic, Arabella had tried to set the roast beside the pan and remove the potatoes from heat, but her skirt had caught in the oven door, her wrist had burned on the side of the roasting pan, and boiling water had splattered up her arm. It had made her whole body jerk – all before she could even let go of the roast – and the whole thing had gone crashing to the floor as she gave out a helpless scream of dismay and pain.

She was just barely recovering her senses when Erik burst into the kitchen with only his shirtsleeves on – looking rumpled and haggard. His eyes were bleary, blood-shot, and red-rimmed. He might have been crying in his sleep and she simply hadn't heard… but the sight of his half-wakened concern broke her.

She was so tired… and she just wanted to make Erik his favorite foods and earn him back _just a little_. Would _Christine_ have cooked for him, or remembered his favorite things? Of _course_ not; so why _shouldn't_ she start by using such a simple advantage? All she wanted was to _belong_ in this place… and the closest she'd been to feeling that way so far had been during _Nadir's visit_. There had been moments after Nadir's first visit… but only moments. None of them had been repeated, in spite of how he'd lightly brushed their hands together earlier.

Without knowing it was going to happen, she suddenly burst into exhausted and frustrated tears and sank down next to the fallen roast – turning her back to Erik as she did so. The door to the kitchen creaked quietly as it closed behind Erik, and she wondered if he had simply decided to let the seemingly _insane_ girl living in his house be alone. But it only took moments for the door to creak once more. She didn't hear him take a single footstep; but soon he was crouching beside her and reaching tentatively for the arms she'd folded on top of her knees to use as a weeping pillow.

"You're hurt." He said gently. There was absolutely nothing else to betray emotion in his voice – nothing but the gentleness he'd once been so painfully capable of and had mostly lost over the long stretch of years. Even since her return, that gentleness had been made slightly gruff. But now it was back again; and the sound of it made her cry even harder. "Let me see, _ma belle_. I know you were burned."

She didn't resist him – but she didn't help him, either. She merely let him take her wrists to examine them; and felt his ministrations as he began to put salve over the wound and then bandaged it. He held her arm for even longer; perhaps searching to see how much other damage could have been done. She could remember the potato water splattering on her; but imagined the damage done by it wasn't as severe as direct contact to a hot roasting pan.

"T-The… potatoes…" she managed, hating how childish she sounded. She had learned so much about how to behave as a woman by watching the world around Erik over the years. But here she was, curled up on the floor and crying like a stupid child because her meal had become a disaster.

"I've already taken them off the stove." He assured her. She couldn't imagine when he'd done it – his care for her had seemed to take up every second. After a moment, she was startled by the sound of Erik _chuckling_. "You have a knack for burning yourself around food, don't you, my dear?"

Angrily, she jerked her arm from his grip and made to stand. Her reaching hand was snagged out of mid-air by the man leaning over her, and her eyes jerked up to realize he was saving her from grabbing the hot stove all over again. He said nothing to reprimand her. He didn't tease her anymore. He simply repositioned himself, released her arm… and then suddenly his arm was under her folded legs. The other was supporting her back and he was lifting her with almost no effort high up from the ground.

"Erik!" she objected through her continued tears. "What are you-"

"-You're exhausted." He stated simply as he began walking her from the kitchen. "I knew you weren't sleeping very _well_ ; but I'd no idea you were _this_ tired."

"But I have to finish – I have to clean-"

"I will take care of it." He promised. "For now it's not doing any harm. Aeysha is lurking around here, somewhere. I'm sure she'll enjoy the feast while it's still on the floor to be had."

"But it was for _you_!" she objected again.

"I realize that." he assured. "But I'm really not all that hungry, Bella. You know how little I usually eat – even when I'm feeling completely myself. It would have been a fine surprise for my first real meal in a while… but that's all right."

By then he'd pushed open the door to the only real bedroom in the house and was looking about trying to figure how to pull the covers back for her.

"Erik… your bed…" she protested; much more weakly this time.

"It's not my bed. It's my mothers' bed." He retorted simply. "You need some real rest, _ma belle_."

By this time he'd set her on the foot of the bed, making sure that she would remain sitting upright before taking care of the blankets and top sheet. When it was all prepared, he returned to her… but hesitated with his hands hovering over her.

"You've been wearing that this entire time." He realized, eyeing her blouse and skirt uncertainly. "I need to arrange more clothes for you…"

Arabella said nothing; not caring about her clothes. She didn't even care about the bed in site of how soft the mattress was just under her butt and thighs. It nearly beckoned to her; and she could almost remember what it had been like to sleep on a bed like this. It had been in a doctors' house, and she'd been severely injured by her own hand… but she could remember wishing she could stay there forever. It was better, even, than the beds Erik had arranged for them to have once they'd been married.

After another moment of hesitation, Erik turned to the wardrobe, where all of Christine's clothes had been compounded on top of the clothes his mother had left behind. She didn't even know why he'd kept the clothing – although it had certainly come in handy after he'd met Christine and brought her below for the first time. Arabella watched, her weeping slowing down to regular sniffles as he sorted through the clothes and eventually pulled out a simple and inelegant nightgown with no particular adornment whatsoever.

She found herself sighing in relief when she realized it wasn't something he'd purchased for his soprano.

"You should change into this." He suggested.

"I…" She bit her lower lip anxiously.

"It's all right." He promised quickly; thinking her reticence was due to whom the gown had belonged. "It looks like something that she never really wore too often. I had to get rid of some of the other clothing after I handled affairs at her house. Some of the clothing was in atrocious shape."  
"A-all right…"

Erik held the gown out to her, but she still hesitated.

"What's the matter?" he asked.

"I …" After a moment she shook her head and snatched the night shift from his hand. "It's nothing. I mean… I don't know. I'm just… just… being ridiculous, I guess."

"Ah…" Erik nodded as though he understood, but she knew he couldn't. "I'll leave you to it, then. I'll come back to check on you in a minute."

Arabella took a minute to further calm herself before removing her by then rather stale clothes and putting on the much cleaner nightgown. It, too, smelled stale… but at least it wasn't from light body soil. It was simply a thing that had been shut away for too many years. Afterward, she also reluctantly pulled off her _dicklo_ and sat it on Christine's vanity. She considered running the brush through her hair; but decided it could wait a few more hours.

She was staring at her reflection in the vanity mirror; trying to assess whether or not the white slip suited her, when Erik knocked gently at the door. It wasn't unlike other things she'd worn before; but it was so shapeless and modest that it made her feel simply prudish. She had never worn clothes as revealing as some other Romany women… but she did have standards.

"Come in." she called, turning to him as he reentered with a mug of steaming liquid in his hand. Although he didn't hesitate at the door, or freeze in any other fashion, she somehow sensed he had had a strong reaction to the sight of her. She wondered if it was the sight of her in a sleeping gown that did it, or seeing her again without the scarf covering her hair.

"What's that?" she asked, rubbing under her eyes with one knuckle to wipe away any excess tears that might have been clinging to her face.

"Something to help you sleep."

Her eyes widened, and she stared at him mutely for a long time. Erik shifted awkwardly; but seemed otherwise unable to place her shock. His brow furrowed in confusion as he stepped even closer.

"I don't want help sleeping." She told him abruptly. She couldn't place why… but her heart was hammering in her chest at the thought of drinking the tonic he'd created. "I don't _need_ the help. I'm sure the bed will be more than comfortable enough by itself."

Sighing, he placed the mug on the vanity; apparently not wanting to argue with her. He didn't even offer up any _token_ resistance to her refusal. It wasn't like Erik to not fight tooth and nail to have things turn out his way.

"Why didn't you _tell_ me you weren't sleeping?" He demanded quietly. " _I'd_ have taken the divan."

"Because you needed the bed more than I did; you _deserve_ it more."

"Nonsense." He waved a dismissive hand aside, as though swatting away flies. "From now on, _you take the bed_."

"Where do you think _you_ will sleep?"

"Exactly where I just _said_ -"

" _No_ , Erik!" Arabella sighed, closing her eyes in frustration as a whine entered her voice. She really _was_ exhausted… and she hated being turned into a whiny brat over something so simple just because she'd had a few nights of bad sleep. "Why can't we _both_ be comfortable on the bed? It's _large_ enough."

Erik's fingertips - which had been rapping on the rim of the tea cup he'd placed down - instantly grew still. He hadn't been looking directly at her while they talked, and now it appeared he was trying very hard to keep from simply _gawking_ at her. Arabella's eyes opened slowly, and she peered up at him in sudden apprehension.

"I… I don't know…" he began uneasily. "That would… _No_."

" _Why_?" she demanded.

"Bella…" He sighed. "I _told_ you… I don't know _what we are_ …"

" _ **I**_ know!" she burst out. "We're _husband_ and _wife_!"

"Bella-"

"- _No_!" she interrupted heatedly. " _No_ , Erik! You _can't_ say that we aren't husband and wife! I don't _care_ how long you were a widower! I _made_ my vows; and I intend to _keep_ them. If anything, I want to keep them more _now_ than I did on our _wedding day_!"

"But-"

"- _No_." she repeated insistently, forcing her voice down a few levels. "Erik, _miri kom_ … I'm not _asking_ you to pledge eternal love _to me_ again – not _soon_ – not _**ever**_ , really. I … I _just_ …"

She grew silent, staring at him. She could see just how uncomfortable she was making him. It made guilt tug at her. Her mind was spinning, and her heart was squeezing painfully, remembering how carefully Erik had managed to keep _exactly_ who she was from Nadir. It didn't matter that Nadir had been very clear about how obviously she cared for Erik. He hadn't treated the fact like something that deserved serious consideration.

" _I need you_." She found herself whispering, inwardly berating herself as the words wrenched a few more tears from her eyes so that they clung like tiny crystals to her eyelashes. She was just grateful they didn't spill down her cheeks. She deplored being such a wreck in front of him; having thought she might be beyond all that. "I need to _hold_ you, and _touch_ you, and _**be**_ _held_ _ **by**_ _you_. I need to give and receive everything that I've been denied the ability to give you _for so long_. _Please_ … Erik… Since the first day, I've felt almost like I'm still not really here. I mean… you talk to me… but …you barely _look_ at me… and you _never_ touch me - unless it's from sheer necessity."

Erik closed his eyes; the expression behind the mask one of a man who realizes he is the world's greatest dunce. There was no horror… just… _resignation_. Was he deciding that he'd let some overbearing shrew into his home? Did he regret surviving?

She whipped around, almost tripping in her eagerness to sit on the bed Erik had arranged for her. He'd been right to bring her in here to rest. As _he_ grew stronger, it was almost as though _she_ grew a little weaker. No doubt this was nothing but coincidence – it made sense that she was not allowing herself to rest properly so was losing her health slightly. But she was beginning to shake – overwhelmed by her fatigue and her overwhelming, confusing emotion.

"I _know_ you're hoping that Christine-"

"-Please." Erik interrupted softly – not an ounce of heat in his voice. He actually sounded just as watery and weak as she felt. "I've heard enough of that name today. I can't take any more…"

Arabella bowed her head, and then finally let her body sink completely onto the mattress. She searched blindly for the blankets to bury herself in; pulling her knees up toward her chest.

"Yes, you can…" she whispered. "You can survive _anything_ , Erik. You just… you'd… you'd rather be alone and miserable … than happy with _anyone_ other than _her_ …"

She didn't hear him move, but suddenly there was a light pressure on her head. It was so unexpected that she nearly flinched; just barely managing to hold herself still. Instantly; although the touch to her hair was so light, she felt warmth spreading from her. Just that simple touch meant _so much_ to her. Even when he didn't love her, his touch healed her. It made no sense, and she wished she didn't know just how little the touch meant to _Erik_. It took away a great deal of the warmth and joy the soft caress should have truly given.

 _I'm so much more pathetic than he is…_

"Bella…" Erik's voice reached her in a sad sigh. "You knew I needed time."  
"Time to lick your wounds," she muttered, "over someone who never truly cared for you the way you needed and deserved."

"She had every _reason_ _**not**_ to." He pointed out mildly.

"So did _I_." She stated, a little ice edging into her voice. "Remember _our_ first meeting? Remember all the hell I'd gone through in my past? I had _every_ reason not to trust you. But I chose you over _my own people_. I did what little I could to protect you – especially after you killed one of them."

"That man was trying to-"

"-You think I _don't remember_?" she scoffed. "I _remember_ , Erik. I've been given little other _choice_ in _that_."

There was a moment of hesitancy.

"What do you mean?" he asked, shifting his hand just slightly on her head.

Sighing, Arabella shook her head and drew away. The touch was so very nice… but it meant nothing. It _took_ nothing to place a hand on someone's head. Even her father and mother had done such things without any hatred or violence at times. Erik was giving her what he thought she wanted in the most non-physical way possible. He didn't _want_ to get too near her. He didn't _want_ to touch her too much. There was only one woman on the planet that he wanted to touch.

"Nothing." She forced herself to say through the sudden lump in her throat that tried to hold in the lie.

 _I won't use Adnah as a way to draw Erik closer to me. I won't manipulate him like that._

"Get some rest, Bella." Erik pleaded gently. "We can talk more about this when you've gotten sleep."

 _No we can't. I know you won't let me._ _You've spent the last three days putting up walls. They aren't as strong as you want them to be – otherwise you wouldn't have touched my hand when Nadir was here. But you've shored them up higher and stronger even since that minor moment. You said you care… But you don't_ want _to. You don't_ want _to care about anything anymore… unless it's Christine._

 _ **Why bother trying, then? Ask whatever sent you back to take it away.**_

She didn't deign to reply to that particular comment.

Erik might not _want_ to care… but _she_ still _did_ care. She couldn't just _turn it off_.

She'd survived worse situations. At least Erik wasn't _abusive_. It was almost crueler in some ways… but… she could survive it… for a time; at least. But Erik was _so_ _ **stubborn**_. If he was building walls again even _now_ … how long would she have to fight for him?

She was just too tired to fight right now… She didn't want to give up… but she had to stop. Maybe tomorrow she could try again… maybe a different way… But she couldn't imagine how.

"Bella?..."

She said nothing, pretending that she'd drifted off.

 _"_ I'm _sorry…ma belle…"_

Arabella's eyes snapped open; but Erik must have already been turning away. He didn't see it – or at least didn't comment on it.

 _ **Did he just… apologize? Has that**_ ever _ **happened?**_

Surely he must have… Yes. He'd apologized for not feeling what she did, on her first day there. But… he hadn't done anything actively _wrong_ then. He'd just felt like he had fallen short. He'd _also_ been very weak and in intense shock. This time, it had felt like he believed his _had_ been in the wrong somehow.

Erik _didn't admit to being wrong_ … Not since his far younger days, at least. Not _aloud_. Admitting that he was wrong in _any_ fashion was admitting _weakness_.

She lay there for a long time, fighting off the sleep she so badly needed. But he said nothing more. Because she didn't want him to realize she was still awake and had heard what – perhaps – he'd meant to be a _secret_ confession; she didn't turn to see if he was even still in the room. But something instinctive told her he _was_ still there; and her entire body ached all over with the need for him to touch her again… to hold her…

No matter how much it hurt.

 _ **I suppose you**_ **are** _ **just a little more pathetic… Even Erik has his pride.**_

 _People like you took my pride_ away _. Why should I have any now?_

 _ **Gaje – a person of Non-Romany (gypsy) blood**_


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N I tried REALLY HARD to edit this one so... again... apologies for remaining mistakes.**

 **And please read all the way through to the bottom for a request from the author!**

* * *

Erik stood close to the wall with his hands clenched on the back of the chair. This was the second time he'd ever stood simply staring at a woman while she slept. The last time, the woman had been heavily drugged to help her sleep from such an irrational terror that Erik hadn't been able to understand it completely. On that night; his body had pulsed and throbbed and ached with the need to abuse her sedated state, in spite of his confused compassion over her terror. No doubt it had not helped mow much her terror had managed to affect _him._

He _still_ didn't know how he'd resisted that primal and violent urge. He'd never been so close to becoming so utterly unredeemable.

In spite of his relief at not feeling those same demons clawing at him now... he didn't understand why they didn't. Arabella wasn't drugged – true – but she was a beautiful young woman lying in a night shift on a very inviting bed. Why _didn't_ he feel a drive of the same lust under the existing conditions? Was he somehow _broken_ now? He hadn't thought so, based on his reactions to her blatant flirtations a few days earlier. Was it _her_ emotional state? Was he more afraid of taking advantage of _that_ than of taking advantage of a simple _body_? Was it in knowing that she was nowhere near as insensible as Christine had been; so that she would be able to fight and judge him for it - and be truly permanently affected by it? Given her drugged state, Christine would never have even known what had happened to her. Maybe it was the mental trauma he could cause that kept him under such tight control?

But this _wasn't_ just controlling his desires. There practically _weren't_ any.

Why was he so _numb_?

She was still awake. She _had_ to be. Even when she'd always tried to be quiet and still, and make the tent they lived in seem perfectly tranquil in their past; he was always aware of when she was awake or asleep. There was always that subtle shift in the air around her that spoke immediately of life and vitality and consciousness.

Bella was lying awake while he stared at her; not getting the rest she needed... because of _him_...

 _I shouldn't have said anything to her_.

That; or he should have said _more_.

He'd thought his honesty would be the best way to keep from hurting her. But it seemed no matter _what_ he did… his little Gypsy Princess was somehow hurt by his thoughts, feelings, and actions. Just like earlier in the day; when he'd told her she was _replaceable_!

Where had that thought even _come_ from? He'd _never_ felt such a thing before - not even back in Italy! How could he spout such rubbish and _hurt_ her like that? It was the clumsiest he'd ever been trying to express himself _in his life!_

 _Why can't I even_ hold _her?_ He asked himself desperately. _She wasn't asking for much – no matter how much more she truly_ **wants** _. She just wants_ recognition _… that's all… Why can't I_ give that _to her?_

Taking a deep breath, he edged forward again and knelt next to the bed. He reached out, tracing the air over her shoulder, down her arm, above her hip, and along her thigh to the inside of her knee before abruptly pulling back. He was nervous of actually touching the bed clothes; not wanting her to know what he was trying. He didn't want her thinking his attempts to become closer were nothing but a social experiment. The very fact that he allowed himself to experiment at all was enough to disgust even him.

He just… he didn't _understand_ why he couldn't _touch_ her. He'd touched her on the first day of her return; and without any self-consciousness. He'd very boldly touched her cheek. He'd touched her _hair -_ which, to him, seemed so much more intimate. Today, they'd brushed hands. Why was this so _difficult_?

" _Ma belle_ …" he breathed, knowing that she was still awake; but knowing his silent thoughts and actions were only going to drive him slowly insane. He didn't know what else to do - but he couldn't just let her lie there in mental agony so much worse than his own. And it certainly wasn't as though he cared _nothing_ for her. " _Mi princesa gitana_ …"

Somehow; he was surprised when she stiffened and then sharply looked over her shoulder at him. There was uncertainty about the response, her large caramel eyes clearly not believing that he would use such an endearment – particularly in one of her Native tongues.

Erik drew his hand even further away from her before she might see it still hovering somewhat near, but forced himself to stay still and return her gaze. His stomach was twisting in painful knots, but it wasn't nervousness. It wasn't like the fluttering of moth wings that suggested giddiness, elation, or a rush of sudden love. Instead, he was resisting the urge to _run_ … to get as far away from her as possible before something happened he couldn't take back. He was so afraid of hurting her again just because he still wasn't ready to love her the way she loved him. He didn't know if he ever would be… but he didn't want to keep hurting her, either.

" _Mi marido."_ She whispered; a hitch in her voice. _"Mi amor."_

Slowly she rolled to face him, and her birdlike hand reached out to him from under the blankets. The night shift she wore was a warm one, so the sleeves were so long that he couldn't even admire the shapeliness of her _wrist_. Still; that simple silent plea had his heart thrumming harder than it had since her return. It was pounding harder, even, then when he awoke from that terrible nightmare…

Taking a deep breath, he forced his hand up and into hers; allowing himself to be pulled slowly but inexorably closer as she propped herself determinedly onto one elbow. Her other hand came free of the covers and the quilts dropped toward her waist.

There was absolutely _nothing_ about this tableau to give him thoughts of desire… but the tenderness he'd been trying so hard to find _finally_ swelled in him as her free hand rose toward his face. He knew it had absolutely nothing to do with desire … but plenty to do with sheer gratitude. He couldn't honestly tell her "I love you"... but in that moment, he could have _easily_ said "I love your heart" without ever batting an eyelash of guilt. The warm affection wasn't all consuming – or even particularly _noticeable_. It was just a gentle swell like a wave rolling to shore from a tranquil lake.

In spite of that, he wanted to seize the wrist of her outstretched and shove himself backward… but he forced himself to remember the ease with which he'd dealt with her being so near the first night of her return. He forced himself to remember that this was _not_ Christine… This was _Arabella_. He didn't have to be afraid…

He'd been leaning toward her in spite of all his apprehension; and suddenly her fingertips were against his mask and stroking the material as though it were his very flesh. Even though he felt nothing but slight pressure pressing his face more securely against him, he felt a little shudder run through him. He was _horrified_ at having his mask touched. It didn't matter – _in the least_ – just how easy it had been to sit without it a few days earlier and have a full-fledged conversation with her. Regaining his strength had apparently also made him a prisoner of his self-=loathing once more. His eyes tried to keep her stroking hand in view; but it was nearly impossible. Things became even _worse_ when her fingertips trailed directly over his eyes and gently pressed them shut.

"Erik…" She whispered. "I love you."

"I know you do, Bella." He sighed, allowing his eyes to remain shut as he sensed her hand pulling back. "I don't know how else to _tell_ you how sorry-"

"-Don't say it, _Miri kom_." She murmured –with astounding gentleness. "Just… let _me_ love _you_."

He shook his head slightly.

" _How_?"

"Aside from the obvious, you mean?"

She sounded a little more awake again, and his eyes snapped open so that he could see as she began pushing herself into a fresh sitting position. She was smiling a little – the pain he'd caused throughout the day still in her eyes. Still… she was trying so hard to find it…

"Will you let me try something?" she asked.

"I…" Given the slight glint in her gaze, Erik grimaced slightly in hesitation. "Bella; you're _exhausted_. Can't you worry about whatever it is you want to try _after_ you've had some rest?"

"It won't take long." she promised. "And I _promise_ it won't make you vastly uncomfortable. I just can't _sleep_ when things are like _this_."

"What if … whatever it is… doesn't work out the way you want?"

Arabella shook her head slightly.

"Then I'll try again another day."

Erik chuckled helplessly, closing his eyes.

 _Still as stubborn as ever…_

"What is it?" he allowed.

"I just want to… give you something I _meant_ to give you the day I died… Something that Christine should have _never_ been given the chance to give you first."

Erik's stomach nearly dropped down to his toes and onto the floor. He knew – _he_ _**knew**_ – what was going to happen before she could scoot her body any closer to his - or reach up to gently take his face in her hands. He couldn't breathe. His heart skipped so many beats that he feared he was having another seizure; like the one that had gripped him on the day Christine took his mask. A kind of panic he had literally _never_ known seized him, and he felt utterly paralyzed.

She didn't take his mask. That he might have been angry about, or even hurt, but he'd never have directly held it against her. Not with their shared past, and how used to being around her unmasked he'd _been_ once upon a time. He wouldn't have liked it at all, no, but he wouldn't have hated her for it, either. His face wouldn't have been a shock that chased her away as it had – to some degree – with Christine.

Instead, Arabella leaned forward and pressed her mouth _not_ _ **quite**_ to his. He could tell she'd have rather placed her mouth on the _corner_ of his – almost like she were kissing a close relative rather than a lover – but his mask was in her way. Instead, she kissed the flesh just beneath the left corner of his mouth, where he would be certain to _feel_ it. It was almost nothing more than the softest of velvet pressures against his skin… but it was warm and _real_.

He gave a nearly inaudible whimper and felt his hands suddenly closing over her shoulders. He didn't push her away, or pull her closer, and he didn't pull back _himself_. He didn't lean nearer. He simply didn't know _what_ to do. It was almost he knew just as little of how to react as he had to Christine's far more… _personal_ kiss.

After several seconds, Arabella slid her lips up and to the side just enough for him to feel her mouth caress his lower lip. His fingers - already gripping her shoulders – tightened; and she grew still, as though as uncertain of his reaction as he was. He could sense the abrupt resurgence of her timidity; waiting for him to discard her. No doubt that was _exactly_ what she expected - considering his reticence so far. He knew it was probably one of the smarter things he could do – no matter the insult it would be for the time being. He had no business being kissed by _any_ woman when…

 _Damn it!_

He simply… _couldn't_ ignore Arabella's need of him anymore. He didn't have to be _in love_ with her. He didn't have to mend his heart within a single moment for her benefit. But he couldn't ignore her, or her needs. He _couldn't_ keep her at arms' length until he'd worked things out

With a sigh he closed his eyes, released her shoulders… and very cautiously wrapped his arms around her while also shifting from his half-crouch to sitting on the edge of the bed. The motion caused Arabella to necessarily shift as he continued moving, and their constant rearranging without totally separated – _almost_ certainly by accident – brushing her forehead against his lips before she could settle it onto his shoulder. One of her arms went under his armpit and around his back, while the other crossed his chest to rest on the shoulder opposite her. _Both_ of her hands locked around entire fistfuls of his shirt fabric – straining it tightly over his already well-tailored clothes.

He was leaning back against the headboard with his legs up on the bed with half of Arabella's body draped against his side and shoulder when her breathing evened out. She'd tucked her head up under his jawline, making him shiver slightly with each of her small breaths that fanned his exposed neck. Carefully, he shifted the arm cradling her until he could press strands of her hair between his thumb and first two fingers. He felt an _intense_ desire to run his fingers straight through her hair; but was afraid of disturbing her rest if he did anything too noticeable.

He lay there for over an hour and a half, coming close to dozing several times before a tiny creak caught his attention. His eyes snapped completely open, and he peered toward the bedroom door – which had opened a few extra inches. His eyes scanned down toward the floor as a dark blur made its' way across the carpet, and he smiled faintly as Ayesha leaped lightly onto the foot of the bed. He'd have verbally reacted to her appearance as she stared at him while licking her chops; but, again, he didn't want to waken Arabella. Instead, he lifted the hand not holding up his gypsy princess, and reached for his little furry companion.

Ayesha narrowed her eyes slightly as him, whiskers and tail twitching slightly. It wasn't hostile; but she was clearly looking down her snobbish feline nose at him. After a moment of consideration, the little Lady stuck her head forward and sniffed at the lump that made up Arabella's toes beneath the blankets. He knew that his cat had made herself scarce after Arabella's strange appearance in his home; but she'd been poking around for most of the day, keeping to the shadows and trying to figure out this new strange intruder.

She didn't show the same hostility she always had to everyone else. She merely crept her way slowly up the bed, using Arabella's body as a balance beam instead of working her way around the lump of the bed.

"No." he scolded; warmth in his voice as he waved his hand at her without letting his fingertips make contact. "Let her sleep, Ayesha…"

Arabella shifted against him; but didn't wake. Erik and Ayesha both grew very still – a rather amazing thing on the cats' part, since she was on suddenly shifting ground. As the human female settled down, the feline one again crept forward to sniff at the face of the woman leaning against her master.

Erik held his breath; knowing how hostile his little Lady could be to strangers. Instead of showing any further aggression, however, Ayesha seemed to decide that there was no longer anything worth noticing about her fresh competition. She looked up at Erik, precariously leaned over while still on Arabella's side, and rubbed her face against Erik's chin. Unable to help himself, Erik chuckled slightly and began using his hand to stroke behind her ears and under the jaw. This brought Ayesha's front paws up onto his chest, until he teasingly pushed her face aside with his palm.

"Little minx…" he murmured affectionately before placing the hand toying with Arabella's hair completely but very gently upon her head.

With a little sound that was half-pure, half-mew, Ayesha stepped back and off of Arabella's body. Erik watched as she curled up right behind Arabella's curled knees. If the woman moved, the Siamese would find herself rather unceremoniously crushed by the weight of the thighs currently providing her warmth.

Sighing, Erik reached up and finally took off his mask to place it aside. His skin nearly gasped in relief as once again they were able to breath, and he found himself leaning his head down in order to nuzzle her skull with his bare cheek.

"You've been approved of." He whispered in amusement. "By quite a harsh critic, too…"

As he drifted off again; he tried to figure out exactly why it was so much easier to touch her when she was sleeping. He had gotten onto this bed and held her while she was still awake; but he hadn't felt particularly easy about it. Now he could have touched her… could have caressed her, held her, and even kissed her – although there was no _drive_ to outright do so.

 _I will never understand human emotion…_

* * *

The following morning; Erik was scribbling on paper at the piano when Arabella came out of her room. He could sense her instantly; but was too involved in his paper to look up.

"How long have you been awake?" she asked after patiently waiting a long two minutes for him to look up. Her hand snuck into his actual vision, lightly lifting the corners of the small pile he'd managed to amass since he'd sat down. "Well… a while, apparently…"

He took a long enough break to glance up at the clock over the mantle and suck in a deep breath. It was as though he were preparing to plunge into the lake for a long period without his usual breathing apparatus.

"About two hours." He admitted. "I slept surprisingly well, honestly. Did you?"  
"Y-yes…"

He frowned briefly down at his newest work of music at the hesitating tone in her voice.

"Surprised that I care?" he challenged, forcing a wry smile.

"No!" she objected instantly. "No… it's just… a very sudden change. Yesterday, you-"

"-Yesterday was yesterday." He interrupted a touch impatiently and waving at her dismissively. "Why don't you enjoy the bath for an hour or so? I've set out a fresh outfit for you – although it's another one of my mothers. I tried to pick something that isn't too old-fashioned.… It might be a little loose…."

He was terribly distracted – but it was still amusing to feel Arabella's confusion over his change in demeanor.

"We don't usually bathe in still water." She told him quietly. "It's why I always found a river…"  
He glanced up again, irritated not only by the fact that he couldn't concentrate but also because this was something he _had_ known decades earlier.

"Well… there aren't any rivers here where it would be wise to bathe." He argued with forced reasonability. "Besides… you were never particularly strict about what traditions you chose to follow before. Is this a new sense of superstition?"

"No…" she admitted hesitatingly.

"Then the scented oils should be quite enjoyable." He leaned back, rolling his shoulders to loosen the ever-tightening muscles there. "You should hurry, though. We're going above today."

"We are?"

He stood, outright laughing at her astonishment now. He felt her eyes simply staring at him as he moved over to the tea tray he'd prepared himself earlier and made a fresh cup of the by then lukewarm liquid.

"Yes." He stated simply. "I'm running low on many supplies – including food. And I seem to remember that last night I promised you more clothing."

He sniffed at the tea before taking a sip and grimaced.

"I think I'll starting purchasing coffee as well. I don't know what is the matter with it as of late… but there's something terribly wrong with this batch. It hasn't tasted the same in over a month."

Although his back was to her, he still heard a sniff of indignation that made him smile.

She knew he was teasing her… although it _was_ true that he felt a bit put off by tea ever since those saccharine sweet cups that had been made to help him survive.

"Go on." he urged in a gentle tone as he carried the tea back to the piano. "You have an hour or so. I'd like to be finished shopping before the streets get _too_ full."

"All right…"

He was already absorbed in his writing again before she was gone. He glanced up at the clock frequently, forcing himself not to get so involved in his composing that he scribbled away the entire day. He knew just how capable he was of that… and he'd promised himself that he wouldn't let it happen today. He'd woken up with a sweet melody in his head – and certainly didn't want to risk forgetting it before it was put to paper. But he didn't want to be consumed by it, either. There was absolutely nothing intense in this song… but he found himself loving the sheer simplicity of it, and wished he could figure out exactly where it had come from. He doubted if Arabella would pull him out of his own imagination if she came out of the bath and found him completely consumed by his work. She used to enjoy watching him work far too much to ever interrupt him unless it was absolutely necessary…

But, then again… she had changed these past decades. He didn't know what being a spirit had done to her… but she certainly wasn't the exact same girl he'd _once_ loved.

After twenty more minutes, he moved from composing to playing; closing his eyes to hear what this new inspiration was creating.

It only took a few bars of hearing it out loud to realize where this inspiration had come from. He couldn't stop thinking about how Arabella's hair had smelled, and how it had felt under his fingers. The memory was such a simple pleasure… but the acceptance with which she'd allowed it… He found his fingertips trembling ever-so-slightly by the time he was done and stepped back from the piano.

He turned to realize that – this time – Arabella had snuck up on him. She was standing just behind the divan in a severe navy blue blouse and a skirt of deepest, richest cranberry. She'd foregone the _dicklo_ today – no doubt due to how terrible it would look with his chosen outfit – choosing instead to pin it back from her face and give it the slight illusion of being up instead of free.

Considering how he'd just been thinking of her hair – fantasizing, if he was being honest – it was almost impossible to take in the rest of her appearance. Still, he forced himself to take in the rest of her as she shifted uncomfortably and waited for his reaction. He made his way around the furniture to take her in from complete head to toe, seeing that she'd managed the boots he'd also left out quite well.

"Are those too small?" he asked worriedly. "Your feet look like they're going to fall off from blood loss."

Arabella blushed.

"They'll survive the morning." She assured him simply.

He nodded briefly.

"Do you want a hat? I'm sure I could find material for another _dicklo_ if-"

"-No." she insisted quickly. "It's all right. It's already getting late. We should leave now if you want to get off the streets before they get too busy."

Erik took in a slow, deep breath.

"All right…"

He strode over to the door and lifted yet another project he'd already gotten done that morning from the singular hook. He turned to Arabella with a flourish, offering to help her into the long coat of cobalt blue that he'd made from one of his mothers' remaining winter dresses. It had taken very little time – but enormous ingenuity given the fabric.

"Where did you-" she began to demand as she shrugged into it.

"-Never mind." He interrupted quickly. "We'll find you a better one while we're out today."

Arabella turned toward him as he put on his own cloak and hat. Her hand was working at the complimentary but otherwise mismatched buttons he'd sewn on and then smoothing her hands over the soft fabric.

"This is beautiful…" she told him in a low murmur. "Can't I just keep this one?"

"Of course…" he smiled faintly. "It will only keep off the chill of the lake, though. It will do very little good in other more frigid or damp circumstances."

Arabella shrugged, her brow still furrowed as though he had run her brain into a permanent state of confusion. Once he was settled in his own outerwear, he opened the door and offered her a playfully sarcastic bow of gallantry.

"Shall we?"

* * *

 **A/N: I guess Erik has a… hair fetish? Sorry I don't know where it came from exactly, but I don't think he'd obsess with a kiss so utterly pathetic compared to the one he shared with Christine.**

 **All right, ladies and gents... (But let's face it, mostly ladies. . ) I have one or two very specific things I'd like to play out. Unfortunately with no way to get to those moments, it's going to be a while before you hear from me again - it won't be very often at the very least. I've got the next chapter in the works currently... but after that I'm sort of a blank. I'd really appreciate your feedback. Please leave me suggestions... I may have to make the logic leap that they spent a whole lot of time getting to know each other again and falling in love; but what a major cop out. I hate that.**

 **Help me, my dedicated readers, PLEASE! Every one of you is AWESOME, even if you've never once reviewed!**

* * *

 **Mi Princesa gitana: Spanish – My Gypsy Princess**

 **Mi Marido, Mi amor: Spanish – My husband, my love**


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N Hey all. This is me trying to get back into the swing of things. I hope you can all enjoy this. I've been disjointed the past few months, and I know that's going to show through. So I apologize. And I'm still having some major issues reading what I've written. As I go is ALL RIGHT... but not GREAT. Large blocks of text give me a headache, so my editing is sporadic at best. I'm sorry for everything I've undoubtedly missed.**

* * *

After she'd already decided to simply get some rest, and worry about her relationship with Erik the following day… something still hadn't allowed her to sleep. She'd lain there; Erik's apology echoing in her mind as Adnah's disbelieving question went unacknowledged. Her husband's presence – so obvious to her sensitive awareness – had only further strengthened with each moment that passed. She could almost hear his soundless movement as he came closer, and had almost felt as though some ghostly hand was hovering close to her…

She had no idea that Erik _had_ been tracing his hand in the air over her body… She'd only sensed that his eyes had been raking over her with almost physical force. She didn't know if the sensations were wishful thinking… or if they existed in a way that she was afraid to understand. All she _knew_ was that he was _there_ , staring at her; feeling terrible for not being the man she'd once known and loved. He was there staring at her… and she couldn't sleep because all she wanted was for the awkward silence and tentativeness of their reunion to be _over_.

The sweet Spanish words he'd broken the long silence with had finally broken her. It had forced her body to almost contract with a type of hope that caused agonizing pain. She didn't want to feel so suddenly hopeful. She didn't want to be so forward with Erik that it frightened him away… But in that moment - when she turned to look over her shoulder at him with such uncertainty - it had almost felt as though she had _no choice_ if she wanted to survive another night in this house.

She needed to love Erik… to give herself to him in whatever way he would allow.

 _It's probably the only way…_ Adnah's voice had mused thoughtfully. _He won't let_ her _go if he doesn't have something_ better _to look forward to._

She doubted what she had to give Erik could be considered _better_ than what Christine had been giving him. For that to be possible, Christine would have had to have _been_ giving him something _at all_. She didn't believe for a moment that Christine had given Erik anything worthwhile. She'd been too absorbed in what Erik had been giving her - the good and the bad.

The fact that Erik had not pushed Arabella away when she'd kissed him had been a good sign. At least… she thought so. There had been no commentary from the ghost haunting her thoughts; so she didn't know if anyone else agreed. But she _knew_ it was a good sign when Erik had melted and joined her on the mattress. He'd given her something in return… however slight the gift had been. It had been a step in the right direction.

It could have been a purse of diamonds… the tiny surrender had been _that_ valuable to her.

But she certainly hadn't expected his complete change in demeanor the next day. Erik hadn't teased anyone in such a way since… well…

When _was_ the last time Erik had teased and been in good humor without a biting, acidic undertone to it? She honestly couldn't remember. It had been _years_ ; that much was certain… maybe even decades.

In spite of her curiosity and confusion, she hadn't wanted to question him about it. Bringing it to his attention might have made his good humor pop like a soap bubble. She didn't want that. She wanted to see Erik humming, composing, and teasing… She wanted, greedily, to see the tender thoughtfulness he used to be so capable of being nurtured. If she questioned him, and brought it directly to his attention, he might think that he was doing something unacceptable…

He'd made her a coat out of something he'd kept _for years_. That had touched her more than many other things she'd realized in the past few days. The idea of discarding the quickly assembled and slightly mismatched garment for something much more impersonal struck her as ludicrous – given how Erik sometimes forgot all about the comfort of others. She wasn't sure when this part of him had begun to manifest… but she knew he was _very_ capable of forgetting that other people needed simple comforts. Even when he remembered; he didn't _always_ care.

That he cared about her comfort enough to take her shopping after already making her something almost from scratch was a good thing… it _had_ to be.

Once dressed and wearing the makeshift coat; she'd followed Erik out to the boat on the lake and taken his assisting hand to sit herself in the center. It didn't seem Erik was paying any particular attention to her balance or comfort out here… but he was still amused at her bemused reaction to his new demeanor. It was almost as though he were enjoying her reaction enough to keep it up for sheer _entertainment_ purposes; rather than genuine continued good-humor. Still… their ride across the lake had been mostly silent – she doubted Erik was aware of the almost inaudible tune he continued to hum on the relatively brief journey.

Once on the other side of the lake, Erik had secured the boat and escorted her out into the dim sunlight of early morning. It was crisp outside – almost cold enough to be considered bitter due to a gusty breeze that bit almost instantly through her coat. Erik took a sharp glance around; trying to decide where best to lead her first. Before they'd gone very far, however, Arabella had smelled freshly baked goods coming from a bakery as they past, and her stomach clenched in hunger.

Only then did she remember that neither of them had eaten super the night before. She put a hand over her stomach and paused, causing Erik to stop and look at her with a curious tilt of his head.

"Is something wrong?" he asked, his eyes continuously scanning the street for trouble when not looking directly into her eyes.

 _ **Your Erik has too many faces to keep track of – and that doesn't include his masks.**_

Her brow puckered at the unwelcome return of Adnah's voice in her head; but she was no longer alarmed whenever she heard it. Ever since his 'discussion' with her over whom he was haunting… his droll reactions to things never seemed scathing or frightening. Erik caught the reaction; but seemed to associate it with the entire reason she'd paused as he finally caught sight of the bakery and smelled the breads that had undoubtedly just come from the oven.

"Ah…" he acknowledged, reaching under his cloak to access his hidden purse. His gloved hand was very white in the lightening morning as he held it out to her. "I should have been thinking about it before we left. Here… get whatever pleases you."

"But-"

"-No." Erik interrupted, shaking his hand. "I insist."

Biting her lower lip, Arabella tried to hide a smile.

"What about you?" she asked instead. "Aren't you even a _little_ hungry?"

"Perhaps I will do what you and I have done in the past." He gave her a somehow familiar lopsided shrug – and it took her a moment to realize he was unconsciously imitating one of _her_ behaviors.

"What is that?" she demanded, although her smile was starting to break through. She was happy that Erik was in such good humor… but she didn't entirely trust it. Adnah had been right about Erik's many faces. It wouldn't take much for his mood to alter _dramatically_.

"I could steal a bite from what you're eating."  
Rolling her eyes, Arabella found herself laughing as she walked toward the bakery.

The man inside was around Erik's age; and didn't appear too fond of seeing her walk into his shop. She didn't know if it was from waking so early on so many days to do his work… or if it was because she was clearly an outsider in an old-fashioned French dress. But he still took her money, even if he wasn't particularly polite about it. He sold her three biscuits laced with cheese, and then gruffly told her to enjoy the day – in a tone that suggested he'd just rather she go to Hell. Almost the entire time, he was eyeing Erik through the front display window of the bakery; as he stood in profile to them with his hands clasped patiently behind his back.

When she came out and offered him one of her small prizes, he smiled and took it without comment. She was amazed at the chunk he bit out of it, and stared down at her own while she tried to decide if she should similarly tear into it… or pick at it… or take smaller and more ladylike bites.

It was ridiculous; wondering how she should eat in front of her own husband…

"I take it you had something in mind…" Erik finally said once they'd paced a few more yards. He glanced at her sideways; and smirked at her questioning stare. "I mean… for clothing."

"Oh… well…" She glanced over her shoulder; in the direction of the shop where she'd bought her newest set of clothes. "I hadn't thought much about it. I had supposed we would find some booth or store selling used clothing."

" _Used_?" Erik snorted. "I don't put my money into something another person has already worn into shapelessness."  
"Well… you have finer taste than I do." Arabella frowned at her feet as the continued walking away from the slightly tackier merchants of the area. "A few skirts and blouses would be enough for me, Erik."

He glanced at her – again. All of a sudden; his every glanced made her want to wince slightly. She felt scrutinized in a way that left her lacking somehow.

"I remember the night I brought you to that town festival." He mused quietly, staring ahead of them. He'd stopped scanning for possible danger; and Arabella wondered briefly and distractedly if that meant he was relaxing or simply more certain of his previous observations to now things wouldn't be changing suddenly – or soon. She knew exactly what day he was speaking of… and a flush heated her face as her hands began working anxiously over her food and the small bag he'd given her to carry the rest of it. "Even though the dress I'd managed to procure was probably ugly as sin by most standards… you were _stunning_ in it. You seemed to _thrive_ in that gown."

"I _did_ feel like a real Lady…" Arabella admitted reluctantly. "Is… _that_ … how you want me to dress? Like a real Parisian _lady_?"

"You would look lovely, I'm sure." He stated in an offhand manner that was nowhere near as flattering as he meant it to be.

"I don't know if I can look as natural in such things as Christine did."

The way Erik nearly lost his graceful pacing and knocked the toe of one carefully shined boot into the street made her body stiffen in mortification.

 _Why did I say that?_ She thought miserably.

"You…" Taking in a deep breath, Erik seemed to shake himself. "… You _aren't_ Christine. You don't _need_ to wear the same styles and … and… _things_ … that she did."  
"But you still want me to dress like a _gaje_ …?"

"If you don't want to; you don't have to." Erik was scrambling now, each of his sentences coming out in short and almost incoherent bursts. "I just… I thought… You were always so interested in ladies' fashion before… how different it was from what you were used to… even though it wasn't even _that_ different. Some of it was just made with finer material; or a more artful hand…"

They were nearing a group of shops now… none of which looked open. Clearly, Erik hadn't taken the hours of dressmakers' shops into account when they'd left the house. Arabella found her eyes drawn to a dress example in one of the windows' – a party dress of deep cranberry blue-red with black lace and intricate beading. It reminded her – only slightly – of the gown she'd made for her wedding day. Erik's eyes followed her gaze, and then locked themselves firmly on the ground as though embarrassed. It took Arabella a few moments to realize he hadn't seen the gown at all; but a table behind it and nearly at the back of the room piled with ladies' underthings...

"You don't think I'll look like a fool?" she wondered uncertainly. "I just wouldn't want to… embarrass you."

Eyes wide, Erik turned to face her fully for the first time since leaving the lake.

"You _couldn't_ …" he began to object. No doubt heat was suffusing his face. "I'd never suggest you wear something _foolish_. I would know much better what to suggest for you _now_ than I did that one evening…."

What he silently meant was that he intended to control her wardrobe. Arabella realized that, considering it would be his money they used to purchase it… that this was utterly fair. But it still panged her slightly. It wasn't that she didn't trust Erik's taste … but the fact that he'd learned about women's fashion not due to her… but due to his obsession with obtaining Christine… it made things awkward. And she also wanted – very much – to be exactly what she'd never been before. She wanted to be Erik's lady. This thought had occurred to her in their past together- multiple times. But she'd never been so nervous that she was incapable of pulling such things off.

"If you don't want to do this…" he offered slowly; obviously with reluctance as he glanced at the nearest shop again. "…I'll take you somewhere else."  
"No." she objected instantly. "It's all right. We can shop here… It will be _interesting_ at least; to wear something brand new made by a _professional_ hand."

"I thought _your_ skill was something close to professional." He offered almost timidly.

"That isn't actually having professional skill." She pointed out. "When do we come back? After we've done the rest of our shopping? Will they be open for business by then?"

"We don't need to wait." He took in a steadying breath. "Wait here… I'll be right back."

"Where are you-?" Arabella's jaw dropped, her entire body stunned when he turned to walk down the street toward the corner of the building.

"To find the seamstress." He said dismissively. "She's done work for me before. She'll accommodate us."

Even as he vanished around a corner, Arabella felt her body slump.

Of course… Erik had attained all his brand new clothing for Christine from _someone_. It hadn't always been the same person… but she thought this place seemed specifically familiar now. She wondered what the reaction of the seamstress would be … seeing this intimidating man in exquisitely tailored black clothing escorting about a young foreign woman. Would she think that Erik had bought all the previous clothing for _her_? No… her measurements would be far too different from the ones of Christine – which Erik had acquired from wardrobe in the Opera. So… what _would_ she think? Would she think anything at all?  
 _ **It's too convenient, isn't it?**_ Adnah asked; a tiny hint of his old malicious glee back in his voice. _**Everywhere he goes… he can think of her. There is no place in this city where he'll find a single thing to make him think of you, instead. You'll always be overshadowed by her.**_

Moaning, Arabella pressed her head to the cool glass of the display window by the cranberry colored party dress. Her hands rose up to cover her ears, as though she could block out the voice in her head.

"Go away…" she pleaded. " _Why_ can't you just leave me _alone_?"

 _ **Who would you have to talk to if I**_ **did** _ **? Do you**_ **really** _ **think that he is going to be able to ever let you out of her shadow? Even his house is virtually a memorial to her.**_

Her face puckered in pain.

Things had started so well today – in spite of her initial confusion. It wasn't Erik whose mood had suddenly taken a drastic change, though. He'd become a bit more serious… but even his musings of their past had seemed to be reasonably casual and light-hearted. He hadn't been _trying_ to be domineering or discarding. He'd wanted to give her a taste of the life she'd once dreamed about. He was being _kind_ – if perhaps misguided. This time… this time it was _her_ fault.  
 _ **Will he dress you in pretty pastel colors? Will it suit your skin tone… or clash terrible because it was**_ **really** _ **intended for a lithe and lovely blonde Scandinavian?**_

"Stop it!"

 _"_ Bella _?"_

A hand touched her shoulder and she jerked violently, spinning with one hand up to defend herself. Erik blocked her hand instinctively, hands held up innocently so that she could see he was harmless. Her mind spun back in time to the other times he'd tried to make himself as non-threatening as possible. There had been the time she'd gone into the red tent for his assistance… the day Adnah had died… the night she'd discovered her condition… Erik was always trying to prove how harmless he was to her… and over the years he'd become the dark shadow she'd always been afraid of in others – although not in quite the same way she'd feared. She tried to reconcile the two Erik's in her mind… and almost couldn't do it.

"Are you all right?" he asked worriedly.

"I… I'm fine." She said uneasily, turning back to stare through the window. "Did you find her?"  
"She's in the workroom." He acknowledged. "She asked for a few more minutes to make the place presentable… Bella?..."

She turned her back to the window and reached into her bag of food to distractedly nibble at one of the leftover biscuits.

"What happened just now? You… you were… talking to someone…"  
She shook her head quickly and forced a smile onto her face.

"Not now." She stated. "Later."

"But-"

"-Please, Erik…" she murmured, dropping her eyes. The smile was slipping. " _Not_ _ **now**_. We don't have that kind of time."

"All right…" he agreed reluctantly. He was staring at her as if she had gone crazy…

Maybe she had…

A few moments of tense quite passed between them as she pretended to nibble at her food. Finally, however, the front door to the shop unlocked and opened, and a slightly older woman with dark olive skin peered out at them. Arabella was startled – being so used to the fair skin of the French that something more exotic seemed utterly out of place. The very sight of the seamstress made her almost forget her misgivings and trepidations as Erik gestured her into the building.

He'd brought her to the one place – probably in all of Paris – that her differences wouldn't be looked down on. He'd brought her to a woman that would understand nearly everything about her body, hair, and skin, far better than any French woman.

He had found a place to leave her in good hands.

She hadn't realized this immediately; of course. He'd stayed for a time; keeping almost entirely to himself as the seamstress began speaking in slightly broken French – her accent unrecognizable to Arabella but friendly never-the-less. As Arabella became more relaxed, and seemed to forget what had tortured her outside, however, he offered apologies and explained that he would get the rest of their shopping done while she was measured.

"Take as long as you wish, _Ma Belle_." He insisted at her slightly uncertain glance up from a large book of design sketches. "I want you to enjoy yourself. Pick anything you wish. Don't worry about how much it costs…"  
When he was gone, the seamstress smiled at her almost mischievously.

"He is good customer." She said in her faltering French. "He has exquisite taste. We take his words to heart – enjoy the chase of the perfect dress."

Arabella smiled in spite of her surprising trepidation, shaking her head at the woman's enthusiasm.

"No… I am not going to waste his money." She argued.

The woman's brow furrowed as she continued going through all of Arabella's options. She had apparently realized that Arabella was not the same woman Erik had bought for in previous visits.

"Your mother must be the expensive one." She mused quietly. "She is lucky to have such a small waist."  
"The woman he bought for before _isn't_ my mother." Arabella said – ashamed at how testily her tone came out. She couldn't help feeling that the seamstress had somehow managed to imply she was the wrong shape… maybe even fat. She knew it wasn't possible, in spite of her ample curves… but still…

She supposed she suffered far more insecurities than she'd ever _dreamed_.

"Ah…" The woman didn't so much as hesitate between pages at this revelation. "I apologize… Now… let's start with some silk. He said to give you nothing but the very _best_ quality…"

Arabella doubted very much that Erik had been quite so specific. They'd already agreed that she could pick out what _she_ preferred. But she couldn't blame the businesswoman for taking advantage of a patron unafraid of spending far too much on a massive quantity of clothing. She decided not to argue the point; and soon found herself enticed into buying more and more completely unnecessary garments. There were so many various designs, and the alterations the seamstress kept saying things could be changed did sound enticing – as though this custom made clothes would somehow be so different that she'd stand out like an exotic flower in a field of weeds.

"It is going to take you weeks to make all this." She finally realized in mortification. " _Why_ am I doing this? _No one_ needs this many clothes!"

"You are new to this city…" the seamstress guessed with a knowing smile. "You will need _every single one_ of these garments in time. We haven't even _started_ on the underthings!"

Arabella very much doubted that…

"I won't need as much as you think in _that_ regard."

It felt as though hours had passed before they were finally interrupted by the shop door opening, and a light, trilling voice breaking into their revelry.

"Hello!"

 _Oh no!_

She could think of absolutely nothing else coherent as the seamstress excused herself to meet with the new customer. Arabella froze a moment; knowing that she was a stranger to all in this city and thus could never be recognized by a Parisian woman… But she still felt trapped in the room. Recognizable or not, she didn't want the new customer to see her.

Frantic, she hurried around behind a shelving unit that held an array of fashionable accessories. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the blonde-haired customer in a black hat and salmon-hued dress eagerly clasping hands with the seamstress as though they were old friends.

 _ **She'd only been seen once in a restaurant?**_ Adnah's voice broke into her panic. _ **Someone has not been looking very hard.**_

 _I feel sick…_ she admitted; too upset by this sudden turn of events to be disturbed by Adnah's obnoxious return.

 _ **Do you genuinely feel**_ **threatened** _ **by that silly songbird?**_

 _Not_ now _, Adnah!_

 _ **It would be such a waste to kiss him so pathetically; just to be reminded of a much more sensual one, wouldn't it?**_

Ah… There was that horrible mockery she was so used to. Her face twisted into a hateful grimace as she searched out a doorway into a back room. She couldn't concentrate on a single word spoken between the two other women in the room. All she could think of was _escape_.

 _Why is she here_ now _?_ She wondered furiously; unable to find a door immediately. _She doesn't live close enough to bother with this street! She shouldn't even be_ in town _!_

 _ **Not that**_ **Nadir** _ **knew.**_ Adnah reminded her – a touch more sympathetically. _**Newspapers don't stand outside of seamstress shops and wait for Opera diva's to shop there.**_

He was right; of course… Sighing, Arabella forced herself to take a deep, steadying breath and begin to look for the door more carefully.

" _Mademoiselle_?"

She nearly jumped out of her skin at the seamstresses' voice. She whirled and felt her face explode with heat as the woman rounded the shelf full of accessories to peer at her in concern.

"Is there something you wanted back here?" She asked worriedly. "We haven't fully discussed colors or fabrics. We won't know what will go with any of-"

"I trust your judgement. I wouldn't know what to pick. But I am done today – I can't handle any more." Arabella interrupted. "I need to leave. Is your new customer still here?"  
The woman narrowed her eyes; obviously confused.

"What? Oh! No… she was only picking up clothes. No fitting today."  
"O-oh…"

Arabella was so relieved that she nearly fainted; but managed to keep on her feet. She didn't understand why she'd personally wanted to escape the shop so much without Christine seeing her. It wasn't as though there had been a photograph of her in Erik's home. She wouldn't have been recognized by the ingénue. But coming face-to-face with Erik's most cherished muse had felt like an insurmountable challenge so soon after her return. She _certainly_ didn't want to think what would have happened had Erik returned while Christine was still in the shop!

 _ **You didn't want to hear if Erik came in and reunited with her.**_ Adnah accused mildly.

He was right… but it still didn't explain her _horror_ at being so near the soprano.

 _ **Maybe you don't want Erik to see you side by side and make an unattractive comparison?**_

 _Leave… me… ALONE!_

She doubted very much that he was gone; but Adnah did her the favor of not speaking again as she returned to the books full of designs next to a – by then – enormous pile of fabric swatches. There was nothing for her to collect; but she felt utterly rude simply stalking out without so much as a polite 'thank you'. She'd been rude enough as it was.

"Are you certain I cannot convince you to stay a bit longer? I would hate to disappoint you."

Arabella shook her head adamantly; but smiled faintly with apology.

"What's the _matter_?" the seamstress demanded. "Did I do something wrong?"

"No, no…" Arabella assured. "It's nothing like that. I just…"  
She didn't know how to answer. The seamstress was clearly puzzled by her sudden behavior. Still; after a moment she gave Arabella a brilliant smile.

"I know! I have _just_ the right gift for such a generous client! _Honestly_ , I had made it for myself… _but_ …"

She frowned, a look of grief seeping into her eyes. Arabella didn't ask what had changed her mood so suddenly. She merely watched, dumbfounded, as the slightly older woman walked into the back room only to return with a large white box in her hands. The sadness was still in her eyes; but her smile had returned full-force. It looked terribly false, and she seemed to be trembling slightly.

"This should fit you just as well as it would have fit me." She promised. "I don't need it now; and I _promise_ I've never worn it."

Arabella accepted the box; uneasy. She couldn't imagine what had sparked this sudden generosity in the other woman. There had been nothing particularly familiar that had passed between them. Had Erik somehow arranged for…?

But Erik arranging for anything in the few minutes he'd been gone to fetch the seamstress was silly. This woman claimed to have made it for herself. Perhaps it was a spontaneous moment of comradery… or perhaps because Arabella was so close to her size, it was the perfect opportunity to get rid of something that brought sad memories.

"What is it?" she asked.

"Something for a special occasion." The seamstress said with a wink that showed a glimmer of tears. "I think you will appreciate it… on some evening… perhaps…."

"Oh… thank you…"

Arabella sat there for a long moment, her hands clasping the box. The seamstress stood as though waiting for her to open the box and peer inside… but Arabella no longer felt like being around these clothes was _any_ sort of fun. She was ready to be gone; and to go home with Erik. She wanted to be safely tucked away with him where there was no chance of accidental encounters…

 _Would it be wrong to keep this a secret from him?_

 _ **You haven't told him about**_ **me** _ **yet. I don't think this would be much worse.**_

Again; he was right. But she meant to tell Erik about Adnah… the time just hadn't been right…

 _ **Secrets are what killed you the first time; you know. Keeping a secret about your suspicions that you were with child… about how sick you really were…**_

Clenching her teeth, Arabella quickly turned toward the front of the shop.

"Thank you." She offered to the seamstress one more time. "We'll pay you when we come back for the fitting… if that's all right."

"I've already been paid." The seamstress waved a hand dismissively. "And, of course, any possible extra costs will be added to later. I hope you're happy with the results."

"I'm sure I will be. Good day."  
She walked through the front room, escorted by the dress maker, and pushed her way outside to realize Erik was standing in the shadows of the building across the way, his arms folded tightly across his chest and his eyes distant. There was only a small basket of necessities at his feet… it seemed he hadn't done much shopping at all.

He saw her coming and quickly released the death grip he had on his own torso before scooping up his basket and walking over to meet her. His eyes looked strained, but he still managed a slight smile for her.

 _He knows._ She thought immediately – and a touch irrationally. _He must have been nearby; and he saw her come and go…_

"Is this all you're getting?" she demanded, motioning to the basket. "I thought we were in desperate need of more."

"We were." He admitted. "I came by the shop once, when I was almost done, just to check on you. You seemed like you were having so much fun that I slipped back out to bring many of our supplies home already."

"Y-you've been _back home_ already?" she demanded, looking around anxiously to try and see how late it was. It was impossible to tell in the now crowded and narrow street. "How long were you waiting for me out here?"

Erik was silent for a long tense moment, glancing at the shop she'd been in one time, before shaking his head as though to clear it.

"Not long." he replied evasively, holding his hand out for her box. "What is this? Something was made _already_? I bought an extra few items from one of the consignment shops – as you had suggested - in order to help you through without the finer things... but I had no idea you'd come out with anything."

"Erik… I don't know if I'll even _wear_ the finer things."

"I know you aren't used to it." He acknowledged. "But how can you know unless you try – yes?"

"Yes… you're right." Arabella agreed anxiously. Erik turned; and they began to walk back toward the Opera House close together. "I don't know what's in here. It was a gift but I… I just didn't want to disappoint her if I looked and didn't like it.

" _You_ … _you_ looked very… distracted… when I came out."

"Did I?" Erik cleared his throat nervously; glancing once over his shoulder back the way they'd come. "I suppose I was worried about you. Your face is _bright_ red… and something very strange happened before I left you with the seamstress that you weren't willing to talk about… so…"

"Is that all?" She asked, rolling her eyes as though she weren't actually expecting another answer. " _Nothing_ happened to upset you _other_ than that?"

"Why _would_ it?" he demanded; although Arabella almost convinced herself that he looked simply _disconcerted_ by her prodding.

Sighing, she shook her head.

"Erik…" she began reluctantly. "We need to talk…"


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: I want to thank E.M.K.81 for her continued support; and the extra mile she went to help me with this particular chapter. It was so much fun! I really hope we can continue behind the scenes!**

* * *

Erik had suggested they wait to speak until they reached home; not wanting their conversation to slow them down. He didn't wish to remain out in the teeming public longer than he already had; for the stares had been getting to him… the murmurs he was convinced were aimed at him had been even worse. It had been chipping away at his good humor bit by bit. Then, of course, there had been…

He shook his head as he helped Arabella into the boat and begin to guide them across the lake. He didn't want to think about that vague glimpse… that face and frame that _surely_ had to have been a hallucination. Just one day after he'd decided to at least _try_ to open himself further to Arabella, and he was fantasizing about Christine walking through the streets! He hoped to God Arabella didn't intend to interrogate him on his changed mood from that morning. He didn't want to admit to what he thought he'd seen… didn't even want to _think_ about it in his own mind. The wave of affection that had finally returned to him the previous evening had not ebbed... and it filled him with guilt every second he acknowledged his daydream in the world above.

They had carried everything into the house together, and much of their necessities went straight to the kitchen. Arabella left her box of mystery clothing on the chair by the fireplace; before coming to where he was putting bread into the warmer of the stove – the small biscuits she'd bought that morning for breakfast surely wouldn't have filled her to satisfaction. She would need lunch…

She said nothing at first, but picked up a jar of milk and opened his ice box to put it away. It was only once her face was blocked by the ice box door that she finally spoke.

"Erik…"

His shoulders tensed at the nervousness in her voice. He knew she'd picked up on his change in mood out in the street; and she'd seemed upset herself... but he'd merely attributed her seeming nervousness to his own agitation. He hadn't realized she really _did_ seem perturbed.

"What is it?" he asked quietly, slowly releasing the bread and closing it into the warmer. He had a habit of keeping the stove eternally warm - so that at least the kitchen was never cold. Then, still tensed for her next words, he took a head of lettuce from the groceries; jugging it briefly for self-distraction.

"I don't think I came back alone."

He scoffed; giving the lettuce an even higher toss while he rapidly worked a lightning-fast train of thought that went through a tunnel of confusion.

"Of course you didn't." he stated simply. "I'm here."

"No…" She gave a nervous laugh, staring into the ice box long enough to make him wonder if he needed to fetch another block of ice from the Ice Cellar of the Opera House. "I mean… when I _came back_ from … _wherever_ I was. I didn't come back… _alone_."

"I don't understand…" Erik admitted reluctantly, resting the lettuce against one thigh in the most casual stance he thought he might have _ever_ taken. His brow furrowed in concern beneath the mask; but he didn't want to enhance her nervousness by taking his normally tense pose of folding his arms restrictively across his chest. He waited for her response; while she finally closed the ice box and turned to the table laden with groceries.

"There's… a voice…" she admitted, looking at him in sidelong glances and lightly fingering the basket of meats he would need to put away. After a moment she placed a finger to one temple. "In my head…"

"Voices… in your… head…" Erik almost lost his hold on the lettuce, and he quickly tossed it into the vegetable bin. Then he returned his full attention to her. "I don't understand, Bella… _what_ voices?"

"Not _many_ voices." She corrected quickly – as though any voice at all in her mind beyond her own was less impactful. " _One_ voice… I… I _think_ that because _I_ was dead I can hear him…"

"A male voice, then…" Sighing, Erik tried to distract his sudden intense concern by digging through more vegetables. There was another confusing emotion there… and it astounded him when he realized it was just a hint of _jealousy_. Just like when Nadir had first been getting friendly with her… "Do you recognize it?"

"Yes." Arabella admitted instantaneously. He waited patiently for a long moment, making no move to finish with the groceries while she thought of how to put her next words. When she spoke again, her admission came out in such a rush he wasn't entirely certain he'd heard her correctly. "It's Adnah… his voice, his personality… it's _him_."

Once his mind caught up with her rush of words, Erik forgot entirely about the meat and the vegetables. He forgot about _everything_ – even Christine – for just one moment; as his hands found the nearest chair and gripped the back of it in white-knuckled hands. What he saw momentarily turned into little pinpoints halfway across the small kitchen table, until he could get control over himself and keep from _throwing_ the chair clear across the room.

As it was, the bottom of the chair legs squealed as he yanked it several inches closer. It struck the extreme side of his pelvic bone, and he focused again in just enough time to realize that Arabella had taken one single step to put distance between them.

She'd been prepared for hostility... and the single face that her first reaction to him had been one of fear put a sliver of silver pain somewhere in his chest around his heart He didn't want his gypsy dancer to _fear_ him. So many people feared him... He didn't want her to be added to those ranks.

He slowly took a deep breath, closing his eyes. He tried to rationalize what she was telling him; instantly wanting to shove away any thoughts that this was even _possible_. He wanted to deny any form of the supernatural could exist in such a way… but how fair would that be to _Arabella_? She _was_ _proof_ that the supernatural existed. Even if the source of the voice was not otherworldly... he had to take her old gypsy superstitions into account. he couldn't chafe at them as he once had... for he knew Arabella had never taken the majority of them nearly as seriously as the rest of her tribe. If she believed this was a ghost... he had to tread carefully.

"Are you… are you _sure_?" he asked. "Are you _certain_ it isn't just… your own thoughts speaking in his voice? I… I mean… sometimes I think my own conscience speaks in that interfering Persian donkey's voice…"

"I had considered it." Arabella reached cautiously towards the basket of meat, picking up a bound sausage and moving it to the counter. Clearly, she ideas on what supper should be. It also served as a good distraction from the terrible conversation. "He echoes my thoughts… my emotions… At first, I thought it _was_ only my own mind. But only _Adnah_ can be that scathing. I mean… I am hard on myself… but… even at my _worst_ I don't say some of the things _he_ does…"

After another moment of thought, Erik gritted his teeth.

"Why?" he demanded. "Why is he there – _here_?"

"He won't tell me." She admitted with a shrug that wasn't half as casual as she wanted it to be. "He's just… _there_. He isn't… _cruel_ … exactly… just… he's _himself_. At first I thought he was there to torment me… because of what happened-"

"He blames _us_ for what happened to him." Erik interrupted, beginning to pace angrily. "Of _course_! How _dare_ he? _He's_ the one that-"

"-I didn't _say_ that!" Arabella held up both hands pleadingly in defensiveness. He had been careful to pace on the side of the table opposite her; but clearly she still felt it necessary to protect herself slightly. "Erik! I didn't _say_ he was here because of that! He actually _takes responsibility_ for what he did. There _is no blame_ – just the simple fact that _yes_ , you took his life and we hid that fact together. He doesn't _blame_ us for the fact that we did it."

" _Good_!" Erik's hands were tight fists now, and he began to shake his arms to try and loosen them. "So… _why_ is he…?"

"He won't say." She reminded him. "Maybe he doesn't know – just like I don't know who sent me back or how. But he's been in the same kind of isolation _I_ was in for over thirty years. He's not particularly _nice_ … but he isn't trying to outright torment me… He's just being the same tactless boar he always was … something almost anyone could understand and deal with. I can understand him talking to me… even if what he says isn't always nice."

"So he's … _haunting_ you…" Erik had grown still now, and one hand rose up until one of his loose fists pressed to his forehead in thought. "What does he say to you?"

"It doesn't matter." Arabella waved a hand, trying to dismiss it. "It's nothing that hasn't already crossed my own mind in one way or another."

He didn't think he liked that… Not one bit… The idea of an inescapable bully running rampant through her head was outright alarming.

"We need to get rid of him, then."

"Happily." She held her hands up to him in offering. "Tell me how."

He thought a very long moment. Finally, though Erik sighed and shook his head in surrender. He didn't know where to even _begin_. He hadn't paid enough attention to superstition and religion since his catechism.

"You asked me before I went dress shopping who I was talking to…" Arabella's slow words brought him back to harsh reality.

"Don't talk to him anymore." Erik urged intently. "Don't encourage him."

"I can't always help it, Erik. He can respond to things I don't even think in words."

"Dear God…" Shaken, he wiped one hand down over his masked face; tempted to remove it but deciding he still wasn't ready. Every time this temptation hit; he remembered how Arabella had teased him about going without his mask for her entire first day back in the world of the living. But... he just couldn't remain that easy about it. He couldn't put aside the years that stood between them.

He simply sat there, watching as Arabella played at housewife and continued to put the groceries away. And why _wouldn't_ she be more at ease with the subject? She'd been dealing with a ghost in her head for… how long had it been? Four days? Five? That... or she was trying to give him the space he clearly needed to digest all this bizarre information.

To again think of Arabella inescapably enduring Adnah's bullying enraged him… but he recognized it for the helpless kind of anger that it was. There was nothing he could do to protect her from a ghosts' voice… not until he'd done more research… Where did one begin to research exorcising a ghost? Did the religion of the ghost matter? Did...

The lunacy of that thought made Erik almost chuckle from the irony of it. A week ago, he hadn't believed in ghosts. He'd barely believed in a life after death. Strange... considering he firmly believed in a fiery lake of never-ending torment. Maybe that was because he sometimes _lived_ in that Hell.

"You were in a very good mood this morning." Arabella pointed out once the table was clear. The change in topic startled him. He wondered just how long he'd sat stewing in his own bitter thoughts. "What upset you while I was in with the seamstress?"

"Your torment just before going in isn't enough?"

"No…" Arabella smiled faintly, teasingly. "You were concerned for me… but not on such an edge. Did something happen?"

He thought about the beautiful blonde frame that had been walking down the street as he approached the shop. He didn't know whether his body wanted to blush or go pale from the memory. He didn't _want_ the memory. It only compiled his agitation.

"I'm… just… not used to waiting around out in public." He offered. "The streets were getting busier... and…"

"And you never expected Christine to be so close to the Opera House."

Erik jerked almost violently from his seat, rising almost to his feet and staring at Arabella. Dread filled him. The idea that he had been mostly lying to her and she _knew_ was mortifying. Even worse was knowing that what he'd seen had _not_ been just a fantasy. He'd _seen_ Christine ... and simply watched her walk away!

Well… why _wouldn't_ he? _He'd let her go_. He couldn't go after her in the street and expect anything good to come of it. His love of Christine had been quite literally _insane_. Hadn't he assured her and Nadir - quite recently - that he was willingly to let Christine live her life completely apart from him? Just because it hurt like Hell... that didn't mean he could simply toss those words aside - even if it was clear neither of them had believed him.

"I… I'm sorry…" he rasped as she looked at him with pained accusation. "I wasn't trying to _lie_. I mean… I thought it was just my mind playing tricks on me… I thought she was no longer in Paris. I didn't want to burden .. But then again; why _wouldn't_ she be here? That pompous prat of hers-"

Realizing the hatred building in him because of Raoul, Erik forced calm into his being.

"Her betrothed has a very nice house in the city." He finished much more lamely.

"I know… I've been there with you."

Erik winced. Of course she had been. How could he keep forgetting that? He wondered what her reaction to had been the night Raoul took that cowardly back shot at him. He wondered at her reaction to _a lot_ of what she'd witnessed through the years.

"Erik…" She walked over to the table, placing her fingertips on its surface as she leaned over and looked into his face. "I know you still love her. I know it still hurts. You were only _humoring_ me last night. A little peck on the chin isn't going to replace what happened between the two of you. _I can't live up to that_. I'd be _stupid_ to try."

"Bella…" He was surprised how much she clearly found herself lacking. It hurt that he'd brought her to such a level just by loving Christine. "it is not that I do not love _you_ …"

He nearly flinched at the violent flare of hope that rose in her eyes. It _physically hurt_ \- seeing the hope that she was so clearly trying to suppress within herself. The sight of Christine had shaken far more than his sanity. It had shaken Arabella, too… But he was saying he loved her – finally – when all this time he'd said he _didn't know_ what they were together. How could she not react to those words being said after knowing how close Erik had been to reconnecting with his so recently lost love – and her rival?

 _Her rival_... _Oh dear sweet Jesus..._

"Bella…" he began again, much more carefully. "You were my _dead_ wife for so long… I love Christine – _yes_! _There_! I _said_ it – and doesn't _that_ make you happy?"

He paused, trying to smother the bitterness in his tone.

"I just… I love you both _**so**_ _differently_. There is no comparison to _be_ made… You can't compare yourself to her. There is no _point_. _You cannot be her._ But… on the other hand… _she_ could never be **_you_**."

He lifted a hand as though he were going to reach across his tiny table and touch her shoulder, but ended up just putting his hand down again, flat on the surface of the old wood. It rested closer to where her hands were... but they didn't touch. He didn't dare touch her. Not now. Not while thinking about Christine... and he was _always_ thinking about Christine.

"She was my chance at a life of normalcy… But she couldn't… she… It's why I had to let her go, Arabella. I was destroying her… just like I ruin _everything_ I touch. She didn't want me… what woman ever really _could_?"

"Damn it, Erik!"

He was so stunned by her sudden cursing – he almost couldn't react when both her hands actually slammed angrily down onto the table top. He stared at her though his mask, his eyes wide. Something had flickered on her face… something that he recognized as distracted thought. Had she been listening to something? Was Adnah talking to her? Is that what that look meant? He took half a step back as though to escape her anger; confused by her anger and that strange look that crossed her face.

" _I_ want you!" she continued in a quieter but just as intense voice. In another moment he saw how her face had filled with color… how her eyes seemed to glimmer. It wasn't really anger… It only _manifested_ as anger… but she wasn't _feeling_ anger. He had to wonder how much about behavior she thought she'd learned from him over the years. This was a reaction more akin to _his_ personality – not _hers_. "You aren't the boy I knew anymore. You've done terrible things. How you act sometimes _terrifies_ me… But _I_ want you! The part that scares me isn't _enough_ to chase me off! When it isn't outright _dangerous_ , it's actually _exciting_! As _twisted_ as that is, the idea of being with you _**now…**_ _excites_ me!"

"I didn't mean…" Erik stammered a long minute, his hands moving without any real purpose or ability to appropriately express his feelings and thoughts. Exciting? His warped, twisted nature was exciting?

Her years of watching over him had come from a place of such selflessness… such a place of pure and overwhelming love that he could never understand it. He'd accepted that part of her being with him already. But to think he excited her was too much to take. Had being with him all these years somehow warped her? Would she wake up some day and realize how demented it was to love and accept a murdering monster like him? How much had he bent her?

"You deserve so much better…" he realized helplessly. He'd always known this - even thirty years ago. But thirty years ago; it was his looks alone that had truly made him feel such a blow. Now... there was so much more!

"Oh God… Erik… not this again…"

Arabella strode around the table, reaching out to seize his arms in her hands. Erik flinched back. It wasn't that he didn't want to be touched – or that he didn't _like_ being touched. It was simply that he was so unused to a harmless hand… He'd forgotten what it was like to be touched with any form of kindness - even with some of Christine's more recent benign touches. Her touch had felt like razor blades simply because of the context of them.

The moment Arabella's touch sank in, though… _everything_ about her sank in. Even though he wore his shirt and waistcoat, he could sense the rose-petal softness of her fingertips. He could smell her skin and hair… It was the exact opposite of the night before; when he'd felt virtually _nothing_. He held his breath, struggling to deal with the sudden rush of emotion and sensation in him.

 _"I_ decide who deserves what I have to give!" she insisted, her face inches from his. " _Not_ you! _Forget_ what _that stupid girl_ taught you! I'm sure she loved you - in her way - Erik; but she took every ounce of leftover dignity from you and tore it to _shreds_! She made you feel like you had to _suffer_ for love! I _hate_ her for that! Suffering what you do in love isn't in order to _earn_ it – it's to protect the person you love! It's to bring _them_ joy. It is _not_ to lower you to a level that makes them feel benevolently superior!"

"You mustn't say you hate her…" Erik offered almost meekly. Somewhere in his mind, it had finally clicked fully into place that he was making Arabella suffer… that she was now in the same position he had been in with Christine. Instead of a handsome aristocrat as her rival, however, Arabella had a lovely soprano from a much different world. " _I_ don't hate her… she's a _good_ girl. What happened wasn't her fault…"

"Erik, do you _hear_ yourself?" Arabella demanded. "I _don't doubt_ that Christine is an essentially good person. But she _hurt_ you. She took something that should have been _**mine**_ ; and used it to _manipulate_ you! She tore your mask from your face and was rewarded for _humiliating_ you with submissive devotion!"

" _Submissive_?" Erik had thought he was stunned into silence by her rant… Hearing her claim that Christine had taken something of _hers_ struck an unnerving chord of familiarity in Erik – although he had no idea exactly what she was referring to. She certainly hadn't meant _him_ , **_specifically_** … But her description of his love of Christine suddenly seemed obscenely humorous. He knew it was unwise… but he couldn't help the reaction. "I was commanding her left right and handing out threats-"

"-And she freed herself with _a kiss_." His fiery gypsy princess spat out furiously. " _ **Your**_ _ **first**_ _kiss_ … from someone so lost that she didn't even know her own _mind_ by that point! All she knew by then was that you _wanted_ _**something**_ from her… and like any young woman warned about men… she knew _just_ what to do!"

"Bella - try to remember what I'd _put_ her through that day!" Erik pleaded - reasonably enough, he thought.

"Did I say I _blame_ her? How _can_ I blame her? I know it isn't all her fault! I _know_ that! But… but…"

He didn't speak again – knowing that his amusement had affected her far more than his earlier self-hatred. He could only gape at her. It left far too much time for his already distracted mind to soak her in. The warmth of her hands seeping through to the nearly mummified skin on his arms was starting to get to him. The flush of her cheeks and the moisture in her eyes was nearly hypnotizing… She was all but heaving with her emotion.

Honestly… she was a little glorious in that state...

"I hate her, Erik." Arabella admitted; pulling him partially back into the seriousness of the present moment. "And don't try to tell me _not_ to. I can't control what I feel. I doubt I will ever feel _anything_ but hatred for what happened to you because of her."

This hate-filled woman was holding _him_ – _however_ impersonally. She was meeting his gaze squarely without blinking. There was no judgement that he loved another woman… just the extreme pain of knowing how wholly he was consumed by that love. There wasn't even any fear of his reaction over her rant.

He couldn't simply stop loving Christine… But Arabella was here… warm… alive… _with him_ … and she felt no disgust or shame for it.

"How can you stand to touch me?" he breathed; unable to reconcile the differences in her train of thought and the emotions swirling in him like paints on an artists palette.

This question seemed to knock her senses off course. She blinked once… twice… then looked down at her hands on his arms. Slowly, she slid her palms down over his elbows, and across his wrists to the backs of his hands. He didn't encourage her; but let his hands sit in hers when she took them. They'd touched before that moment... many times... but he'd never let it sink in. He hadn't let it… _affect_ … him…

"I have never - _virtually_ never - been disgusted by you." She murmurs. "You aren't a handsome man, Erik… but _… I **love** you_."

This confession nearly caused him to hunch over as though she had stabbed him in the gut. She was touching him… and saying she loved him. This has happened before, too. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he vaguely recalls this… It had even happened frequently _and_ recently. But it still astounded him. He could barely bring himself to believe it.

"You're so kind, Bella… so sacrificing…"

"This isn't a _sacrifice_!" she exclaimed; her voice once more rising in exasperation. "I'm not _kind_! I'm _selfish - beyond measure_! I _know_ you aren't ready to let Christine go yet. I _know_ you aren't ready to move on. I, myself, am not _quite_ ready… Even being forty years older in spirit, there are _bound_ to be things I only _think_ I'm ready for… But is it really _so impossibl_ e to believe that I _want_ you, Erik? I want to show you that I love you in every way God has ever _conceived_ for a woman to show her love! I want to make you see just how worthy and special you are – to feel the same way because _you_ love _me_. Days ago, I promised to give you time… but every single day that passes just feels like another day I could be giving you _more_ …"

Erik tried to pull from her grasp. His head was _reeling_. All the knowledge and acceptance in his head wasn't enough to prepare him for this emotional and physical barrage. She loved him... she wanted to make him happy. She wasn't disgusted by him enough to shy away from touching him. These simple things he could understand and absorb. But what did she mean by _want_? Her tone - her words - suggested so much more than what she had already given him or taken from him. Want... suggested... It suggested something _far_ more intimate. He didn't think he could allow that train of thought.

Oh, hell, he _knew_ he couldn't.

Arabella allowed him to attempt his retreat, but only for a moment. Her hands willingly left his arms; but then came up as though she were going to take his masked face in her hands… but she paused when he instinctively flinched once more. Some instincts were just too great to suppress… and his stopped her cold. Still... determined as she was; she planted her hands on his shoulders so that he could not retreat entirely. His knees were quaking so badly now that he felt he needed to sit down - and _soon_.

"I try not to touch you… to make you uncomfortable or to pressure you… But as alone as you've been for thirty years, Erik… wanting more… _I've_ wanted it, too. _I've_ wanted it _**more**_ … because I had _nothing_. At least you had the luxury of interacting with people... even if it was only under the guise of a ghost. I just want to see you composing, relaxed, and walking through the streets at any time of day or enjoying the Opera performances… I want to share all that with you… and _more_ … for _both_ of us. I want to dance for you again, and make you smile-"

"-I always loved to watch you dance…" he admitted, knowing his voice was almost dreamy. She had pulled herself so much closer to him by putting her hands so high up on his shoulders. He'd finished his growing since her death… she was so small next to him… She almost had to press her body to his to grasp him… and he wanted to distract himself from how it made his body feel. "I … You… You're saying you want to walk with me in the park? I always… always wanted… to do that with ... to be normal..."

Of course, she _knew_ what he'd always wanted. She'd been there to hear his demented confessions to Christine. She knew how he wanted to walk in the park on Sunday mornings and pretend to be just like everyone else.

"If you want to walk in the park Erik, then _go_." Arabella urged eagerly. "I'll go with you!"

Sighing, Erik shook his head and pulled back from her, slumping into the closest chair.

"Do you have any idea what that would be like?" he asked. "Once we're seen in public... the scrutiny would be merciless! Do you honestly think I'd let a single man or woman get away with mistreating you? It would be a blood bath, Bella!"

" _Let_ them talk, Erik!" Arabella laughed – a harsh sound that seemed to hurt her throat. "You should be slightly more worried about being _arrested!_ I'm surethe police are probably _still looking for you_. I wouldn't doubt your appearance in the street _today_ probably caused a stir. But you can handle _gossip_ , Erik. You can handle the _ignorant_. If Paris is too dangerous, let's take a ride out into the countryside - for a picnic, maybe. Isn't that what respectable, rich _gaje_ do? Let's leave _France_ , if a picnic isn't enough for you!"

 _Leave the Opera?_ He thought with a stab of sudden fear.

The idea of leaving his fortress was terrifying. He could defend himself down here. No one would ever find him unless he wanted them to. No one above was as smart as he was. Even tenacious Nadir hadn't found the way until Erik introduced him to the passage leading into the torture chamber…

Outside… anywhere but here… He didn't think he could do it. This had been his home for too long. Arabella couldn't understand that. She had never known a single home before… but the marble and stone of this place ... they were all the armor he had. He trusted it.

"Do you understand that most men my age are retiring from long careers?" he asked softly. "A new life somewhere else would be nearly impossible. Bella… I … I don't think I could bring myself to… No… I can't leave this place! It would be _far_ too much!"

"You're _afraid_?" Arabella blinked at him, startled. "Oh… Erik… _you_ aren't the one who should be afraid. You're _used_ to living alone… among these _gaje_ people. You've always _had_ an easy time of integrating into a new environment. Imagine how it must be for _me_. You're over twice my physical age now… your health has started betraying you. I could lose you at any time! Then where would I be? Alone… completely unable to navigate this world… possibly in a place I'm totally alien to..."

"You're strong…" Erik argued. "You would manage." At her dumbfounded look, he realized his insensitivity and mentally backpedaled. "But I understand your point…"

Arabella's hands had remained on his shoulders even as he'd finally collapsed into his chair; and now he gently covered one with one hand of his own – which was still encased within the white glove he'd worn out of the house that morning.

"I will have to keep myself alive long enough to ensure you are no longer afraid… so that you can fight for yourself when I am no longer here…"

Arabella very slowly sat in the chair to his left, her shoulders slumping slightly. He hadn't meant to sound demeaning; or as if his survival was only meant to prolong hers. He _certainly_ hadn't meant to sound like a father - or grandfather - to an insecure child.

"Bella…" he began uneasily. "I will try… please… I will try to put Christine behind me… But let me … come to grips with this… with _us_. Let me take this slowly… I know you need more... but... I need _time_."

"I had already _intended_ to." She reminded him. "I am so sorry that I'm so selfish - that I keep forgetting to be patient. I _do_ keep reminding myself how new all this is to you… that you let _me_ go _**decades**_ ago… But … I can't seem to help it… This second chance... It's all I've ever wanted... I want to embrace every second of it..."

She took a deep breath, and sighed heavily. Erik thought briefly of the previous evening - how exhausted she'd been even while deciding to kneel up on the bed to give him that chaste and brief kiss. It had been so little... but for _her_? He couldn't imagine how much bravery that must have taken...

"Of _course_ … We can take things as slowly as you need. But I will _not_ pretend I don't want more."

"You aren't an actress, Bella." Erik forced a wry smile; still utterly overwhelmed by her stubborn sincerity. "You are a _dancer_... Every emotion you feel, you wear on your sleeve… I wouldn't want you any other way… even if it's like having a siren in my house."

"A siren?" Arabella blinked at him briefly. "I don't understand… Sirens are … they're creatures of _temptation_."

Erik slowly rose to his feet and started to remove his gloves. As each came off, he dropped them carelessly onto the table between them so that his hideously long and leathery fingers were in plain sight. They certainly weren't the ugliest part of his body.

"I know."he acknowledged; taking a step to pass her but pausing to lay a soft hand on her shoulder. Her face went a little pink - a flattering color far different from her earlier brilliant red. "It's why I must be so careful around you..."

"Erik?"

Embarrassed that he had said so much, Erik suddenly pulled away from her as though her skin was oven hot. Heat suffused his face; making his mask feel as though it might melt into his skin. Stammering without sound, he floundered before simply ducking his head and charging towards the parlor.

"Erik!" Arabella objected, rising and turning to watch his escape. To his utter astonishment... she almost sounded _elated_ instead of horrified - but he couldn't be sure.

"I'm sorry..." He offered quickly over his shoulder as he continued out of the kitchen. His shoulder struck the double-hinged doorway hard enough to slam it into the parlor wall. "I shouldn't have!"

The door swung violently back toward the kitchen as he fled to his piano. He didn't dare to lift his eyes from the floor or the keys - afraid Arabella would be coming after him to demand more information. He couldn't allow himself to be so _indecent_ as to speak of such things. What would she think of him if he dared to admit he had vile desires that sometimes were unceremoniously impersonal? It wasn't right... even if he was capable of ...

He shut his mind down - focusing on the keys and pressing his fingers into a chord of loud distraction. The melody he had invented that morning was not going to be loud enough to drown out this random turn of thought. He needed something else... something that would allow him to shut out her curiosity. His mind reeled... and he began to play.


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N I still haven't gotten back into this story fully. But I have to say it's going to start feeling CO-WRITTEN with E.M.K.81 pretty soon. *LOL* Lots of love to her, and my readers. Please review! I'm starting to get a bit uneasy that maybe you all don't like me anymore *LOL*. Just teasing, of course. But reviews are always highly appreciated.**

 **I still had trouble editing this chapter. Please excuse my mistakes.**

* * *

At first, Arabella had been frustrated that Erik would leave her after saying something so flirtatious.

True… a person didn't have to be _in love_ in order to flirt. They had to be _attracted_ to you in some way, shape or form, yes; but not in love. Erik had already admitted to loving her – in _some_ way. He'd also never _denied_ that he found her attractive. Not even in their past.

Still… he'd been so devoted to Christine… He'd needed her to promise that she would give him time to soothe his aching heart. Then he'd said something so flatteringly flirtatious.

How was she _supposed_ to respond?

It was frustrating… but she'd decided not to pursue it at all. Because Erik had raced so quickly away, she knew it had probably been a confession he regretted.

Instead of chasing Erik and forcing him to explain himself, she stayed in the kitchen and began to prepare their lunch. The bread was already in the warmer… so while it heated she only needed to cut some cured meat, a few vegetables, and a block of cheese. It might have seemed meager – if there hadn't been so much food on each plate!

She was pushing her way into the parlor with a tray full of food when there was a lucky lull in Erik's energetic playing.

"Do you want any lunch, Erik? I can pour us some wine to go with this."

His eyes lifted from the piano, looking almost stunned by the interruption. He'd barely even started playing. Still… he rose slowly and walked over to where she placed the tray where one would usually put tea and sandwiches.

"This looks good." He offered lamely, snatching up a piece of meat before moving towards the liquor cabinet. "I suppose _anything_ will look good once you have gone several weeks without a truly decent meal. But I think that this calls for some red wine."

"I told you that _I_ would get the wine…" Arabella objected mildly.

"There's no need." Erik smiled faintly at her as he began to pour. "You do not need to wait on me, Bella. I am feeling far better than I was when you first arrived."

"That isn't the point-"

"I understand." Erik pressed. "But I can pour us the wine just the same. Is red all right with you?"

"I don't know…" Arabella chuckled. "I haven't really tried too many wine options before."

"Oh!" Erik ducked his head in embarrassment again. She was amazed just how easily she was able to throw him off balance. She was used to seeing Erik so much more in control; so much more confident. "Why do I keep _forgetting_ things like that?"

"I suppose it must be a lot to get used to." Arabella smiled, watching as he carried over two goblets and passed one into her waiting hands. She was about to take a sip when he quickly pressed his hand over the mouth of the crystal.

"Wait!" he warned. "Here… let me teach you how to properly appreciate wine."

"What?" Arabella had watched his taste for wines and alcohols grow over the years… but she'd never really understood what he was doing. She hadn't been paying particular attention. Now, however, she lifted an amused eyebrow at him. "This isn't complicated, Erik. It's wine… you _drink_ it."

"Well… to _appreciate_ it…." Erik objected, looking more embarrassed by his knowledge of this art than he was by her simplistic response. "Here…"

She still had one eyebrow raised in bemusement. She was certain Erik was right that _appreciating_ wine is probably a fine art. But she wasn't trying to appreciate it in that way. For her… she just wanted to have her drink with her lunch. Was it horrible to only want something to wash down her food?

Erik was halfway through his brief lecture when he realized that she was being attentive… but wan't _really_ all that interested. He hesitated, holding the glass up to peer at the liquid intently.

"Never mind, Bella." He finally chuckled. "Drink it how it pleases you."

"Oh, I intend to." She giggled; before taking a larger sip than Erik would probably consider decent. After a moment she gave the tiniest moan of happiness. "That is _excellent_."

"It probably is not as strong as what you might be used to." Erik realized before taking a careful sniff at his goblet and allowing himself an almost _dainty_ sip. Arabella watched him as he enjoyed first the flavor… and then presumably the lovely heat as the liquid went down his throat.

"It's been over thirty years, Erik." She reminded him drolly. "I'm not used to _anything_ anymore."

Erik looked mortified that he had somehow forgotten – yet again – that Arabella had not actually _experienced_ the past thirty years; and thus might not recall what everything was like. The look in his eyes was so priceless that it made her burst into spontaneous laughter… which he eventually responded to with an easy, self-deprecating smile. He sat down on the sofa not too far from her side, and began to pick at the food on his plate one piece at a time between luxurious sips of his drink.

After several easy moments, Arabella rose with a piece of bread in her mouth and moved to Erik's bookshelf. She began perusing the spines, as though examining their titles. Erik; after simply watching for several bites of his own food; came to stand where he could peer over her shoulder. He was clearly curious about _her_ curiosity. But it still took him a few moments to realize she was examining the many titles in all their many languages with no sign of understanding.

"I never _did_ get around to teaching you how to read." He murmured pensively.

Both eyebrows raised, Arabella smiled and turned to look up at him. She could remember, after their marriage, that Erik had on occasion tried to begin teaching her letters. But he hadn't really been able to decide what language to teach her. French was by far easier for him – but she barely knew a word of the language at all. Spanish they could both speak fluently… but as yet had very little experience reading until recently. He'd settled for merely teaching her the beginning of _each_ alphabet… but within weeks she had been gone…

That Erik was remembering their past again… Arabella felt thrilled… but she dreaded the horrors he would recall, too. Even she had tried to block out most of those over the years.

"Would you teach me _now_?" she asked simply.

"Yes… of course." He was smiling as he motioned towards the book shelves. "You speak French well enough now to learn its' alphabet."

"It can't be that simple…" Arabella argued.

"Oh, it isn't." Erik chuckled bitterly. "But pick one anyway. I do not have any children's schoolbooks in my library, and teaching you the letters in a full novel will challenge you to find them and remember what they look like."

Arabella perused the covers a moment, shifting books from one position to the other until her hand rested upon a thick purple cover.

"Will you read some of it to me as we go?" she asked curiously.

"I will read to you from _something_." Erik promised, frowning at the book her hand was trying to coax from its place between two others. "But _not_ _ **that**_ one, if you please. I thought I had gotten _rid_ of that."

After a moment of being stared at in confusion, he shifted uncomfortably.

"It is not in French anyway…" he said quickly, skimming his fingers over the spines of his books before pulling down one with a dark navy blue cover. "How about this one instead? It's a French volume of fairy tales. If I recall; you have always been a bit enraptured by those."

"Why would you think that?" Arabella smiled up at him challengingly.

"Did you not teach me Spanish and Romani by telling me fairy tales?"

Her brow narrowed in confusion as she tried to recall the memory he'd picked out. It was strange… all the memories he seemed to have shoved aside; but he'd still picked up one she had trouble remembering herself. She tried to remember their first one-sided conversations. But she'd shoved the images of Erik in a cage so far back into her mind that she only recalled bits and pieces. Mostly it was what she'd seen and heard in those days that she recalled. Not anything she'd said or done herself.

Even _memories_ of Erik in pain were too much for her soul to bear.

"If you would prefer something else…" Erik began, watching her struggle to recall the darker parts of their beginning.

"No." she objected simply. "Fairy tales sound fine."

"Very well then." Turning, Erik offered her choice of seats, and then took his own perch when she made plenty of room for him on the chaise longue. It allowed them to sit more-or-less side by side while still not forcing them closer together than necessary. "Should we start with _The Groac'h of the Isle of Lok_?"

* * *

Two hours later, Arabella had more-or-less mastered the first three letters in the alphabet. Erik had pulled half a dozen French novels from his shelves and had her hunting down letters she recognized. She knew it would get more complicated – as did Erik – but he considered it to be a good start. Still… due to the slow hunting for letters often given all sorts of different embellishments, her head had started aching.

"That is enough for today…" Erik told her when she paused to rub at her temples.

"You cannot expect me to start learning on so _little_." She objected instantly, forcing her shoulders straighter.

"You cannot learn _anything_ with a headache." He explained. "Your stamina for the writing will get better. As you improve, we can study for longer."

"But…"

Erik had been straightening the books in a pile, preparing to return them to their assigned places. At her inarticulate objection, he grew very still and tilted his head toward her in open curiosity.

"… _Yes_ …?"

"This is the longest we've done _anything_ together since I came back." She admitted quietly.

The silence that followed was so thick Arabella found herself squirming in nervousness. Surely Erik had not been _unaware_ of this. Had she said something wrong? Did he want to distance himself from her now? She pulled her lower lip between her teeth, gnawing on it while she waited for his response.

Suddenly, Erik's shoulders relaxed and he dropped his chin, chuckling almost soundlessly as he shook his head.

"Ah… a rather pathetic pastime for two friends..." He realized. "I think we can do better than that…"

She should have been insulted by the term friends… Instead, she appreciated Erik's effort. At least she knew his different love for her – compared to his love of Christine – came to at least _that_ much. Friendship… it was a good start. She… just hoped to God she could restrain herself from trying to push for more too soon. It might have been a good place to start... but feeling like she was his wife made the term 'friendship' feel insulting.

He rose abruptly; putting down his third glass of wine since their reading lesson had begun. Arabella watched him make way for the piano, his motion loose and languid and relaxed. Wine was a very light alcohol for Erik… and considering he'd had three elegant glasses in two hours, he wasn't exactly _drunk_ … but he was certainly feeling its effects.

"What do you have in mind?" Arabella smiled broadly, standing and following him until she could rest her elbows on the black, shining surface of his prized instrument. She watched as he settled himself once more on the bench and experimented with a few chords.

When his eyes met hers, she almost melted…

It was _that_ look… the intense gaze he'd always marked her with in their past. The stare that looked so deep into her soul that it felt like a caress. It was the look of a man who knew he could do almost anything he wanted just by putting his musical skills to use. It wasn't a look of love… but still a look of deep and intense passion that only his music could summon.

"Does this sound familiar?" he challenged, before bowing his head and launching into a … very strange piece. It was beautiful – as all Erik's music was. But it was very, _very_ clear that it hadn't been meant for the piano. No… this song would have done better on a guitar or violin… It needed percussion of some kind… but Arabella doubted very much if he had a tambourine tucked away anywhere.

"Where should I recognize this from?" she asked curiously, needing to almost shout over the music as it built. "Is this from our old life?"

It certainly _felt_ like it had come from their old life. There were Romani and Spanish overtones that simply couldn't be denied; and the momentum of the music had her lightly beating one of her heels to the floor before her knees tried to join the harmony. Her waist twitched from side to side, and her eyes rolled upward at the realization that Erik's music was trying to command her again. Her body _wanted_ to move to his melody. Even though it sounded off due to the fact that it was being played on an entirely inappropriate instrument… Erik's musical power still held true to itself.

Erik glanced at her, and shook his head as he continued to play.

No… it wasn't something he'd played for her to dance to.

"Then _what_?" she demanded. "Erik… you've never played this before."

His fingers froze over the keys, causing the last chords to reverberate through the room – through her entire body it seemed – before fading into nothing. His eyes returned to her, slightly widened behind his mask. She could see the thoughts in his gaze, running frantically around in his mind and trying to pull themselves together. She instantly wanted to beg him to continue; her muscles aching with the need to dance for him once again.

"I haven't?" he asked uncertainly; sounding amazingly young in his self-doubt.

"Not that I can remember… When did you write it?"

He continued to stare at her, making her squirm slightly with discomfort. She loved Erik. She actually liked having him look at her because it made her feel wanted in the safest of ways… But sometimes his stare could be disconcerting.

"Thirty years ago… It played in my head endlessly. I couldn't escape it… I thought I played it _at least_ once at Gi-"

He closed his eyes, bracing himself with a deep breath.

"At Giovanni's…"

Yet another important person that Erik had lost. Arabella sucked in a sharp breath of her own, realizing how much loss Erik had suffered in quick succession. His home, his freedom, his child – although Aria hadn't truly been _his_ – his wife, and then the young girl who had reminded him of his lost wife… and the man he'd undoubtedly come to think of as a Father. All had happened within two or three years of each other. It was no wonder he had hardened himself so much.

It hadn't passed her notice that Erik had never called another man 'Sir' after the stone masons' death. Not that she had heard, at least.

All that pain. How had Erik _survived_ the death of Reza? She knew Erik had all but come to think of the child as a son… or at least a nephew. He'd _adored_ that little boy. To be the one to grant the child mercy… how had Erik's soul _survived_?

"Well… that was… a very different instrument…" she forced herself to say. "Maybe that's why I do not recognize it…"

Erik caressed the keys of the piano for a long moment. He opened his mouth… closed it… opened it again. Arabella held her breath, her body going rigid.

 _What is it, Erik?_ She wonders. _What do you want to tell me?_

"Anyhow…" Erik clapped his hands brusquely, surprising Arabella as he closed the piano. "You do not want to sit and listen to me play unnamed songs all evening. What do _you_ want to do, Bella?"

"Erik… what is it?" she pressed hopefully. "Why play _that_ music for me; if you won't tell me what made you compose it?"

"It's no use." He pushed himself to his feet quickly. "I am not discussing my miserable past with you tonight, Bella."

 _ **Coward.**_ Adnah sniggered softly in the back of her mind.

 _Can't you just leave us_ alone _?_

 _ **You said so yourself, Bella… thirty or more years of isolation isn't something a person likes going back to.**_

"But it sounded like a _Romani_ song!" she objected; doing her best to ignore her invisible tormentor.

"Of _course_ it did!" Erik gave a forced chuckle. "I borrowed some aspects of it for myself. Now… what do you _really_ want to do? I could start supper. You left out sausage, I do believe?"

"Yes…" Arabella sighed heavily. "I was going to cook them with tomato and pepper."

"Ah… lovely…"

This reaction is a little overstated… but she accepts it. As Erik returns to the kitchen, Arabella is sure to not be far behind. She feels as though no matter what she does, she winds up doing or saying something that makes Erik shut down. But he's still babbling, busying himself to keep from being interrogated.

"I hope you will allow _me_ to do the cooking. I have never truly cooked for a guest before. Not even…"

He doesn't say Christine's name. He doesn't _have_ to. But at least the mention of her doesn't seem to leave him in yet another state of melancholia.

 _I don't understand… why would he play music for me and then not want to talk about what it is?_

 ** _Didn't he tell you only yesterday that you were still in his mind during that time?_**

It seemed Adnah was completely incapable of just going away or keeping quiet. What did he _want_? _Why_ was he going over her thoughts with her? Was he trying to tell her anything useful? She _thought_ so… but… this was Adnah. He'd never been useful to her…

Well… except for when they made a deal to keep Erik fed and reasonably healthy.

 _ **You should have just danced for him. He'd have forgotten about Christine quickly enough.**_

Arabella moaned as she walked into the kitchen, causing Erik's eyes to jerk in her direction.

"Is everything all right?"

"Yes…" she sighed again. "It's just Adnah… trying to have a conversation with my inner thoughts."  
Erik glowered instantly.

"Adnah…" he growled. "I suppose I should start doing research of how to solve _that_ problem as soon as possible."

"Erik… he's just a _nuisance_." Arabella frowned, not wanting his mood to change again so drastically. The mood has shifted so many times lately that it has exhausted her. "I don't want you worrying about him. Save your research for sleepless nights or..."

Erik looked to her again, giving her the oddest expression. Even through the mask, she can tell that he has heard something … strange. Embarrassing?

" _What_?" she demanded. "Why did I say?"

"You anticipate that I will have _much_ insomnia?" he asks teasingly, causing her to relax at once. He's deflecting her question – not wanting to admit the real reason for is reaction. But this is done far more smoothly than other times he's refused to give her a straight and honest answer. "Or do you have some other theory why I may have sleepless nights?"

"You don't sleep very often." She pointed out rationally; deliberately ignoring the sudden tension of the suggestion in his last words. Her face warmed at the concept that Erik had allowed his mind to go in that direction. Was this because she was his siren? Was it because he was so deprived of physical love that his mind entertained such thoughts regularly and she just wasn't privy to them because he didn't normally talk about them?

She watches as Erik begins to prepare their dinner. He slices the sausage into long strips, just as he does the peppers. The tomatoes he dices into fair-sized chunks – chopping more than she would have before beginning to pull out spices and herbs. She thinks for a long time about how amused Erik was by the thought of long sleepless nights. Was he… interested in…

 _ **A man would have to be a eunuch not to be interested in you, Bella.**_

If Adnah meant for that to be flattering… he'd failed miserably. She didn't want just _any_ man to be interested in her. She actually much preferred just _one_ man being interested in her.

She fascinated herself with this line of thought; wondering when the idea of being touched – even by Erik – had stopped being so frightening. Yes, they'd gotten physically comfortable with each other before her death… but she hadn't entertained thoughts of consummating their marriage since their wedding night. She'd assured Erik she wouldn't refuse him his rights… but he'd insisted she wasn't ready. He had insisted she must heal before he even _thought_ about letting himself do such a thing.

She'd returned to life fully aware that she was more than _willing_ to be with Erik… she actively _wanted_ to be with him.

But… of course… she had to have the same patience Erik had always shown with her.

"I was mourning."

This statement came so apropos of nothing that it took Arabella off guard.

"I beg your pardon?"

Erik turns slowly to her once more, smiling sadly. It was an absolutely heartbreaking expression that made her step closer to him.

"The music… I wrote it in Italy… while I was still mourning _you_. I call it _Phoenix, Arise_."


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: So after MUCH delay and fretting and worrying and panicking... I finally have this segue chapter to give you! LOL. Personally I think it's absolutely HORRIBLE... but I can't really do ridging-time type chapters very well and I don't want to bore you all with the mundane everyday blandness of their lives! But I hope you enjoy this chapter for what it is. I made sure to put some cuteness at the bottom for you. PLEASE REVIEW!**

 **Once more I'd like to remind my readers that since I'm legally blind, catching even half of my typos and mistakes is incredibly difficult!**

 **Again my many tanks to my virtual co-writer E.M.K.81. You're vast input is completely invaluable.**

* * *

That night Erik escorted Arabella to her room. He suggested that her night things from the evening before were probably still suitable, and that he'd bring her a tea with some herbs to help her sleep easily. It wouldn't _make_ her sleep – he'd assured – but simply allow her falling asleep to be easier. He'd been thinking only of her comfort and just how tired she'd been before sleeping decently the previous night; but Arabella had refused the offer by trying to make a counter-offer.

She invited him to spend the night with her again.

It wasn't a seductive invitation. It was simplistic. He'd slept at her side the previous evening on top of the blankets – and probably slept better than he had in _years_. Why _not_ just share the bed again?

"No, Bella…" he'd refused gently. "I couldn't… I'm sorry…"

"Why not?" she asked, her entire body and face drooping.

"Do you _truly_ have to ask me that?" he asked. "After a day like today -no I… I think I'll sleep on the divan tonight."

Very early the following morning, he was mildly startled to be awakened by the subconscious recognition of a presence nearby. His eyes opened to find Arabella standing in one of Christine's dressing gowns in front of the almost burned out fireplace. Apparently he hadn't noticed her presence until well after she'd rebuilt the fire… there shouldn't have been any fire left at all. Her arms were folded tightly across her chest. She looked pale, and was shivering even though he was careful to keep the flat warm – especially since she'd been resurrected.

"Bella?" he asked groggily, pushing himself up into a sitting position. "Are you all right, _ma belle_?"

The nickname just slipped through his lips without his permission, and he winced slightly before reaching out. No doubt - even if they were only friends - she would _always_ be 'his beauty'... But he didn't like to mislead her with such gentle endearments. Not now that the phrase meant so much more to her than it ever really had to him. She turned to him, and he realized her eyes were swollen and red-rimmed.

"What's wrong?" he demanded.

"I'm fine…" she waved his concerned touch away – not like she was afraid or disgusted, but dismissively.

"You are most certainly _not_ fine."

"Well… I will be. I just… I had a bad dream."

That was how he found out about the nightmares that had played at least a _part_ in why she'd slept so poorly on the divan since her return. Apparently years of mental growth wasn't quite enough to help a physical body or a tormented heart get over just how horrible the past had been. He tried to convince her to start taking a tea or tonic that would allow her to sleep deeply and mostly without dreams; but she refused with a stubbornness she usually reserved for very different circumstances.

They'd stayed up, instead, which made for a very long day. The next time he woke because of Arabella's evil dreams – which was the following night – it was to hear a broken and strangled scream coming from the Louis-Philippe room. He'd rushed in and discovered Arabella so tangled in the bed linens that her legs were trapped. What seemed to make the fear that lingered all that much worse was that Arabella's hands had fallen asleep under her pillow, so that she woke up feeling paralyzed and unable to fend of whatever lurked in the dark.

Erik had sat on the edge of the bed, untangled her as efficiently and impersonally as possible, and then pulled her into a sitting position by the shoulders. Her hands had fallen like dead weights to her sides, and he'd shifted them around and rubbed his hands vigorously over them until they woke up in the agonizingly tingling way body parts always did. All the while, he was trying to soothe Bella by reassuring her that he was there, and that she was safe. He didn't resort to singing – not at _that_ time. It was clear she was more alarmed at her apparent inability to move than the dream. That time, at least.

Singing to soothe her would come later… when the dreams apparently progressed into such violent night _terrors_ that she sometimes awoke outside of bed and in some other part of the flat. Erik actually had to resort to putting the house on lock down so that she wouldn't wander out into the lake and drown – or worse, into the torture chamber.

In two weeks, after realizing he couldn't get any kind of reasonable sleep with the fear of what could happen to her if he wasn't there to feel her move and maybe leave the bed in the night; he resorted to finally sleeping in the Louis-Philippe room. It was mortifying for him, because sleeping in anything less than his waist coat felt utterly improper… but anything more than his shirtsleeves and trousers made him feel ridiculous. Still… it was better than the fitful sleep he got on the divan fearing for her life and sanity.

Almost like magic – as though his presence kept a terrible bogeyman away – the nightmares simply stopped. Or - more accurately - they weren't severe enough to disturb her sleep. Erik might have accused her of creating her night terrors falsely just to make him sleep in the same bed… but she rarely ever slept anywhere close enough to make him uncomfortable. Apparently just having him _near_ was enough.

Once he'd given up on the divan altogether she would occasionally fall asleep close by with one of his arms wrapped about her because they'd been chatting idly and continuing to enjoy each other's company before drifting off. But he couldn't blame her for that, now could he? He'd been the dolt to partially lose himself in the memories of how comfortable they'd been together during their very brief marriage. More often than not, however, he would join her after she'd fallen asleep; or she would simply respect his space and fall asleep facing the opposite wall.

Once they were both getting some truly decent sleep; it became clear that having reading lessons wasn't going to be nearly enough occupation for them to pass the days. Erik was very used to living alone, and was therefore _also_ used to spending hours on end entertaining himself. Arabella, however, didn't exactly have that same luxury. She was used to working during the day; either by dancing or helping one of her relatives with their own respective means of income. She was only just learning to read and didn't have enough education to entertain herself with the stories in his library. What was left for her, other than the typical duties of cleaning or cooking? Other than sitting and listen to him play? She was welcome to explore his house and do those things. If she felt something was dirty, then she was welcome to alter or clean it. So long as she didn't outright move something like one of his experiments or inventions; he wasn't particular about books being placed on the wrong shelf, or a statuette facing the wrong way. He was not so picky that he would turn down whatever she turned to cook for a meal, either.

But he didn't want Arabella to feel like a live-in maid. She was… well… his _guest_ at the very least. He couldn't argue that some of these things occasionally needed doing before he was ready to do them himself – it was so easy to lose himself in composing or tinkering. But he needed to find a better way to help occupy her time – and preferably in a way that allowed them to perhaps spend more time together in conversation or activity. It was simply too awkward spending hours with Arabella sitting quietly off to one side; staring at him as though she were still an unknowable spirit. Including her as much as possible made her presence less … eerie.

So he began to teach her how to play the piano and read music. She would never be a great aficionado; but he was surprised at how quickly she _did_ pick up on the actual playing. He had to remind himself she'd been watching him play for over thirty years. She was bound to pick up on at least a few things. It wasn't enough for her to be able to do anything at first; but she certainly had the basic concept of scales down long before he ever let her touch the keys.

In spite of her dedication to the reading, writing, and music lessons… it was her desire to learn about being a proper lady that took him off guard.

"I never thought I would be a school teacher." He murmured, shaking his head in derision when she asked the first time. "I am going to have to order school books just to help us keep track of all these things you want to learn… Figure out exactly how to even _teach_ them to you…"

"I can't expect to go out in public with you and act like a gypsy anymore." She explained. "This is your society… I wouldn't want to embarrass you in it."

"When will you ever have that opportunity?" he demanded with a chuckle. "I live quite the solitary life, Bella. We haven't even seen _Nadir_ in… a while…"

"I'm sure an opportunity will present itself." She stated firmly. "There are times you go above. You attend the masquerade every year, don't you?"  
The idea of attending the masquerade ever again horrified Erik – after what had happened in the previous year; and how he'd appeared and terrorized the entire party in one fell swoop. He didn't think he could stand to even go above into the Opera itself again. He didn't want to come face to face with those terrible memories of Christine and Raoul. It was bad enough having to go into the Louis-Philippe room and seeing all the things she'd left behind. He could have packed them away… gotten rid of them… but he couldn't bring himself to do it.

He still hoped – just a little – that she would need these things again someday.

"And…" she pointed out – interrupting his train of thought. "If we go to the masquerade… it would probably be helpful in blending in if I knew how to do the dances."

So… while Arabella returned to the seamstress' to have her first fitting for her ordered clothes; Erik made his way to a shop where he ordered all his imported books. He ordered books on everything, from reading and writing booklets, to simple children's stories, to books on dance instruction, elocution, and proper mannerisms.

For her part, Arabella was beyond happy during her waking hours. Yes, it could be a little tedious and boring during the hours Erik would still compose… but she was positively enthralled if he was actually playing. She loved to sit by him and listen to him read as she recovered from a headache due to her own studying. Since these particular lessons were often later in the day, she would sometimes fall asleep listening to his soft voice work its flawless way through Shakespeare, William Blake, or Victor Hugo.

She'd been alive for nearly a month when she fallen asleep right beside Erik so that her head drooped onto his shoulder – briefly jerking her into a barely conscious state so that she ended up settling into a lying position … right across Erik's lap. He'd lifted his arms out of her way, his body stiffening from brow to toe for a long moment in utter shock – even though by then she'd already fallen asleep on his shoulder in the Louis-Philippe room once or twice. Later Arabella would realize it was because of her proximity to certain body parts and how off-guard he'd been to see her becoming so comfortable inside his personal space.

She certainly hadn't noticed then - she'd been much too tired because they'd spent a majority of the earlier day outside trying to do a lot of shopping; and the fresh air had started having a tiring effect on her. Instead of noticing his strain, she'd become more aware of his relaxing body as he began to read again, one hand resting very gently on her dark hair and petting it almost as though she were Ayesha. Occasionally he'd shift his hand to her shoulder, upper arm, and upper back… but by then she was floating in sleep that was gently disturbed by the images his words painted. The small giving in of physical affection was nothing but a rosy feeling that helped keep the nightmares further at bay.

She was surprised to wake up quite literally lying in the circle of Erik's arms. Apparently he had carried her to bed from the divan and not quite been able to give up on the warmth of having someone so nearby. It wasn't like having a single arm gently around her shoulders for comfort. It was… very different. She'd extricated herself as carefully as possible without waking him; worried he'd regret finding himself in that position if he woke without a chance to hide the 'moment of weakness' he'd given into.

They didn't start out having many conversations – although Erik had been burning with humiliating questions about just how much of his life and activities she'd paid attention to. There was no doubt she knew every milestone in his life – from having his own contract company, to visiting his childhood home, to being the Angel of Doom in Persia. These she all knew because he'd accepted that she'd been there to see them. But how much had she turned her back on? Had she stared at his every private moment? Did she know the depths of his depravity and the intimacy of the very _sight_ of him? If so… she gave no clue… and he was much too mortified to ask her.

Arabella kept things in a safe place for him; reminding him of their first little dance together at Sarima's wedding celebration; or laughing about some experiment of his that had gone wrong in hilarious fashions. She asked him to explain things about cultures she hadn't been able to learn quickly enough during his time in different countries; and they discussed the books that they read together in such great detail one might have thought they were discussing philosophy.

Their isolation wasn't _complete_ , of course. Shortly after falling asleep on Erik's lap, Nadir had finally visited once again. This time Erik was in far better spirits… and his friend was actually allowed to stay for supper without harassment. Oh, Erik still made the occasional snide remark; but this time it was easy to see that he was only playing the normal mind games he always did. It seemed to surprise the Daroga; seeing how playful Arabella was with him. By that time she'd recovered a few of her ordered outfits from the seamstress, so she had dressed for dinner in a beautiful, cream colored blouse of silk, and a brilliant royal blue skirt. It was nothing more than a house dress; but the material and craftsmanship made all the difference since these were tailored specifically for her use.

"You haven't been getting much fresh air." He noted halfway through their meal. "Erik… not everyone can live below as easily as you. Don't you ever go above for longer than strictly necessary?"

"It's all right, Daroga." Arabella said quickly; almost as though he'd done something heinously wrong in suggesting Erik wasn't making sure she took care of herself. "The weather has been foul lately or we'd probably at _least_ be up on the roof occasionally."

Erik glared down at his plate – but not as though he was affronted by Nadir's words.

"How would you know what the weather is like?" Nadir challenged – although the usually interrogative tone he used on Erik was gentled on her behalf. It was beyond obvious that he liked Arabella. "Does he take you across the lake every day to find out?"

"Daroga – I am fine." She insisted – still speaking before Erik could get a word in.

To everyone's surprise, she reached over and covered Erik's hand with her own.

" _Miri Ves'tacha_ does what he can."

Erik's entire body jerked as though she'd goosed him - hard. His eyes widened behind his mask as his eyes veered up from his plate to meet her affectionate gaze. She was smiling at him fondly, and this seemed to make him all the more uncomfortable.

"I'm sorry…" Nadir glanced between them, not sure if he should be amused or concerned. "What did you say, _Mademoiselle_? What was that you called him?"  
"It's just an old gypsy endearment of sorts." Erik explained quickly. This time he was obviously the one eager to keep Arabella from saying anything first. "It's like 'my friend' or-"

"-That isn't what it means." Arabella had lost her smile. She looked embarrassed – but also upset. She quickly drew her hand off of Erik's to grip her utensils and take another bite of food. "I'm sorry… I shouldn't have… I won't say it again. It was inappropriate. But you don't have to _lie_ , Erik. You could have left your explanation at 'it is an endearment'. That's true enough."

Nadir looked at Erik with a raised eyebrow of curiosity, surprised at how Erik avoided his gaze.

"My apologies." Erik muttered in Arabella's general direction. The offer made Nadir nearly drop his fork. Erik was not the kind of man who apologized – even when he was entirely in the wrong! "You … took me by surprise…"

There was a tense moment at the table before Arabella managed to smile again.

"It's all right." She assured him, her tone absolutely genuine. She once more gently placed her hand on Erik's, and Nadir was almost thrown out of his seat in shock to see Erik release his hold on his fork in order to turn his hand into hers and give it a brief squeeze. He had never seen his friend so… so…

Not tame. Erik could never be considered socially tame. But… gentle…

Not since Reza had died, anyway.

"Erik has been acting as my tutor." Arabella offered in order to change the subject.

After supper, Arabella insisted on clearing the table and doing the dishes herself. Erik, by then, looked as though he'd had quite enough of company; but still offered Nadir a drink in the parlor. The Daroga accepted, and stood staring into his drink just as Erik did for a long moment.

"Aren't you going to scold me for snapping at a lady?" Erik finally demanded.

Nadir laughed a little and lifted his eyes.

"No." He admitted. "She seemed quite capable of standing up for herself. She's just more tactful about it than you."

"She's been taking lessons on how to behave around company…" Erik murmured a frown in his voice. "Apparently she's worried that she could in any way ever _embarrass_ me... as if I could _ever_ be embarrassed by her."

Nadir felt a smile tug at one corner of his mouth.

"Will you tell me what she really said?"

Erik glowered at him for a long moment, his shoulders stiffening.

"Was it really that terrible, Erik?"  
"No!" He looked absolutely astonished at this assumption. "It wasn't _terrible_! Not at all! I … I just… I had grown accustomed to a similar nickname… it had almost lost its meaning completely and… and then she says… _that_ …"

"And what, exactly, was 'that'?"

Erik turned his back, shoulders hunching a little as he took a sip of his brandy. Nadir steps closer so that he is just by his friends' shoulder.

"Beloved…" Erik finally confesses. His head drops and he puts his forehead into his free hand to rub at his temples. "She said 'my beloved'… "

This makes the Daroga take a step back in slight shock.

"Oh…" he manages almost weakly. "And… you don't like that…?"

"It isn't that I don't like it." Erik grumbled. "It's that I don't … I can't … I don't know how to…"

"To what, Erik?" Nadir asked; his voice carefully gentle. "How to love her back? How to respond?"

"Exactly so! I – I mean – _no_! I know _how_ to love her… Arabella would be _easy_ to love. But I _cannot_. Not how she _wants_."

Nadir slowly shook his head in dismay.

"It's Christine… isn't it?"

The fact that his friend turned his back again and refused to answer him was more than enough answer.

"You are surrounded with memories of her." Nadir said carefully. "Maybe you should attempt to find a place that is more neutral…"

"Christine follows me _everywhere_ …" Erik sighed. "Escaping the Opera would not be any good."

"Then make new memories, Erik." His friend urged. "Don't be afraid-"

"-I'm _not_ _ **afraid**_!"

The choked voice came out so acidic that Nadir immediately quieted and stepped back, giving the man who had been his only friend – and constant thorn in his side – the room he needed to breathe and calm down. After several moments of waiting; he seated himself on the divan and was still waiting when Arabella came into the room.

"May I have one of those?" She indicated the glass in Erik's hand.

He turned to acknowledge her, and Nadir saw his body respond at once to her presence. His shoulders relaxed. He breathed easier. He even seemed to smile a little behind the mask.

"Ladies don't drink such things in company." He lectured.

"I'm not in _that_ type of company." She pointed out with a chuckle. "Please?"

Sighing, Erik simply surrendered what was left in his glass over to her instead of pouring a fresh one. Arabella accepted it as though this were pure routine for them, and then sat by Nadir.

"What were you talking about?" she asked – although both men suspected she had heard them plain as day from the kitchen.

"Uh…" Nadir looked between the two for a long moment. In spite of Erik's sudden calm in her presence, he showed no other signs of softness towards her. She was simply someone else in the room. His mind scrambles so that he doesn't have to admit to his prodding – even if she already knows. "We were talking about the Masquerade. After all… it is one of the biggest social events of the season. Both men and women need to plan well in advance if they want their tailors and seamstresses' to have enough time to make them costumes. "

Erik turns sharply, glaring at Nadir over his shoulder. His arms are clutched tightly across his chest, the fresh brandy glass he holds in a white-knuckled grip.

"You're going?" Arabella laughed in astonishment.

"I go to every event at the Opera." Nadir winked at her. "Someone has to keep the Phantom from under _some_ form of control."

"The Phantom is _dead_!" Erik exploded, placing down his glass harder than necessary by the decanter and turning to point accusingly at Nadir. "If you don't want him resurrected; I suggest you stop _pestering_ me!"

"What will you be your costume?" Arabella ignored Erik's outburst, clearly thinking that he was merely having a fit that had nothing to do with the masquerade whatsoever. Perhaps she _hadn't_ overheard their conversation about new memories overcoming old ones.

"I suppose you'll see for yourself when you attend."

Erik grunted, looking as though his fingers literally itched to wrap around Nadir's neck… but all he had to do was glance at Arabella's abruptly excited face… and he subsided into sullen silence. Nadir noted how he couldn't _quite_ take his eyes off of her as she leaned towards him and smiled with brilliant hope.

"Are we really going?" she asked him. "I can have a costume? We can dance in the Opera?"

"It… it isn't as though you'd be performing on the stage, Bella…" Erik warned slowly, giving Nadir another hard and hateful glance.

The Persian Daroga leaned back into the divan cushions and gently crossed his arms across his chest. It took all his will power to keep from grinning – not so much at the trap he'd set; but at Erik's reaction to it. He'd expected Erik to completely explode with rage, denying that any such thing was going to happen while throwing and breaking things. Instead, he was subsiding under the simple eagerness of this sweet and hopeful girl.

It was the most _adorable_ thing he'd ever seen! Erik may still be hurting terribly over his stubborn heartache involving Christine… but he clearly had a very tender fondness for Arabella. He was fond enough that he buckled under the pressure of her very gaze… and didn't have the heart to disappoint her by refusing to attend a simple party. It was unlikely Erik had been that able to surrender even to Reza!

"Well… you obviously wouldn't be going as Red Death again." Arabella stated. "Perhaps a different form of … maybe…"

"We can decide on costumes later…" Erik sighed. "Although… I think I know the perfect one for you."

"What is it?"  
"We can discuss it _later_."

Nadir could not help himself. He laughed, covering his mouth quickly even though the sound was more than loud enough for Erik to pick up on.

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 **A/N: So it seems Erik has a softer spot for Arabella than he thought he was even CAPABLE of having... Please review and let me know what you think!**


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N:**

 **This replacement chapter is due to problems with ffnet notifications. I will keep replacing this chapter until I get a notice in my own email box.**

 **As always - my eyes are messing with me and editing is nearly impossible. I know I missed a few mixed up tenses... Sorry guys. I hate being legally blind with fluctuating vision.**

 **This was another chapter I struggled with endlessly. Hopefully things will get smoother after I write chapter 16. Please R &R. Let me know what you think and if you believe Erik is lying about his feelings. **

**Thank you E.M.K.81 for your continued endless support and assistance.**

* * *

Arabella was startled when she wakened one night from a disturbing dream to discover Erik was not in bed. Sometimes he didn't retire at the same time she did… but he was always, _always_ there whenever she woke. Even if he sat in a chair nearby, he kept close until she woke, so that she wouldn't have another nightmare or sleepwalking episode.

Just by the feeling of how her mind and body awakened, she knew it couldn't possibly be early morning yet. After murmuring Erik's name without receiving any response, she reached over to the bedside table on her side and found the small book of matches there. It was difficult to do in pitch blackness, but after a moment she managed to light the small candle she kept near.

Even the nightstand clock behind her candle confirmed it was much too early for Erik to be awake. She sat up and blinked around the room worriedly, seeing that the bedroom door was wide open and there was no sign of light or life outside of it.

Erik hadn't even brought his mask when he'd left the bed. It sat on the mattress beside his pillow as though he'd gotten up only to relieve himself, and hadn't expected to need it while she was sleeping. He tried so hard to keep his face covered, that even doing something like going to relieve himself without it seemed out of character… but she'd have understood that if there was any sign he'd closed himself up in the bathroom. But there was no light coming from beneath that door, either.

The wardrobe stood open – which was even stranger than Erik's absence. She frowned at the open closet, wondering what in the world Erik could possibly have needed in the entirely _feminine_ array of clothing.

Confused, she pushed back the covers she'd huddled under and reached for the dressing gown she often wrapped up in. She couldn't hear any music in the next room. In fact, the very _atmosphere_ seems outright empty – even before she stepped into the parlor. Erik had eyes like a cat, and knew the flat like the back of his hand. He could easily maneuver about in pitch blackness… but there was no indication he'd done such a thing.

He wasn't there… which she'd already supposed based on how his very presence seemed absent. But what worried her was that Erik was absolutely _**nowhere**_ _in the flat_. There was no fire in the hearth, indicating he hadn't intended to stay up in that room. There was only the darkness of the candle she'd lit.

 _It's a nightmare… I'm not really awake…_ she thought immediately. She couldn't imagine why Erik would leave her alone in the house for _**any**_ reason - not without _telling_ her, at least. He had not even tried to write her a note. True, she wasn't a very good reader yet… but she would have at least understood the basic concept of one; meaning he would return in time. Not finding one made it a little scarier.

 _ **Maybe he thought he'd be back before you woke up**_ _…_ Adnah offered.

Arabella paused in the middle of the parlor after searching the house. Adnah hadn't been saying very much lately. Sometimes it was almost easy to forget she was being haunted. To be reminded of his presence was sometimes unnerving – but in that moment she was almost relieved to know she wasn't _entirely_ alone. True, her company was an attempted rapist; but he couldn't hurt her now.

"Do you know where he is?" she asked quietly. It still felt strange to talk aloud as though to herself; but when Erik wasn't around, it was easier.

 _ **Only by the lake… but you do not need to go. I am sure he will be back shortly enough.**_

Adnah was warning her away from Erik? That was… strange. Was he in one of his black moods? Was Adnah just jealous? There were times when she thought he still might be, even after all these years.

Like most people warned not to touch something or not to go somewhere dangerous, Arabella only felt more curious. She clutched the dressing gown tightly around her and moved towards the front door, opening it carefully to peer outside. It wasn't easy to do, considering that there was no fire lit in the hearth. There was only a simple candle in her hand, which she held out behind her as she peered outside. If something was wrong – if Adnah was wrong and there was trouble – she didn't want the glaring pinpoint of light to be noticed too easily in all the inky blackness of the underground lake.

She couldn't see Erik… but she _could_ _**hear**_ him. He must have been rather close to the door – although far enough to be out of sight around the corner of the frame, and possibly further up the tiny embankment that was only large enough for a person to precariously walk down.

Then again, Erik had better balance than a damned _cat_.

The cat she was comparing Erik's balance to took the open door as an opportunity to squeeze herself past Arabella's legs and out into the underground lake area. No doubt she would find her way into the catacombs to hunt her mice. Arabella jumped at the feeling of the Siamese cats' fur brushing her bare calf, and almost cried out. But most of her concentration was on Erik's presence.

He was…

 _Crying?_

The sound alarmed her. What was Adnah thinking, telling her to stay away from Erik if he was in _distress_? What if he was hurt, or sick? Did Adnah just _assume_ that Erik needed time alone, when in actuality-?

She had stepped through the door when she realized Erik wasn't only _crying_. He was _bawling_ , and _moaning_ and _**talking**_. He'd been at it so long and hard that his voice was hoarse, and he was hiccupping rather violently.

"Christine…"

The word registered just as the light from her candle spread out over the lake area for a few feet. That name - that _**damnable**_ _name_! - froze her, even though all she wanted to do in that exact moment was turn and run back into the house. She didn't want to hear Erik's lament… she didn't want to feel his pain over the loss over Christine _again_ …

 _Two_ _ **months**_ had passed since Christine had left! Would his pain _never_ _ **end**_?

She wanted to turn and run from it out of sheer denial…

But she couldn't. She _couldn't_ turn from Erik in distress.

"Erik?" she called worriedly, stepping cautiously forward and watching her feet rather than the ground ahead.

The bawling stopped abruptly, and she could hear Erik trying to force himself under instant control as his body shifted. There was a candle up ahead, but he wasn't sitting within the circle of its' light. But as she got closer, she realized there was more than just the glow from the one candle beside him giving off a little light. There was an opening in the wall beside him… and there was just a little bit of light coming from in _there_. It must have been one of Erik's many bolt holes… one she'd forgotten about through the passage of time since construction had been completed.

Erik clearly hadn't forgotten about it. She moved closer, the light from her own candle finally merging with the light of his – and whatever was in the little alcove. It gave just enough illumination to catch sight of Erik sitting on the thin embankment with a huge pile of satin and silk on his lap carefully kept off the ground or in the water.

"Go away…" His voice was hoarse, and choked; the furthest thing from its' natural beauty without holding onto the ugliness of his demented rage. As Arabella came closer and lit him better, she realized his hand had dug into his vest… where he was used to positioning his lasso. He'd been inches away from lashing out and killing her on instinct alone. He didn't look at her… but down at the candle between them. His eyes were puffy and red and flooding with tears. The place where his nose should have been was leaking what seemed like a fountain of mucus.

She wished she had been wearing a _dicklo_. The man rarely ever needed a handkerchief, so didn't make a habit of carrying one. But when he was like this… he couldn't sniff back the snot. It just went everywhere… and he was having a hard time keeping whatever was in his lap clean from his bodily fluids.

"Erik-"

"-Go _away_!" he snapped more desperately, trying to balance himself and cling to the material in his lap – even as he rose to a half-crouch and tried to pass the little candle without setting himself or al the material around him on fire. He tried to get in the way of the alcove where the other light source was coming from – but by the time he tried to shoulder his way in front of it, she was already close enough to peer in. "Don't look at me! Don't look at what I am!"

The wording puzzled her, and she glanced over the shoulder trying so desperately to shield her from the alcove. But she had to take in the silk and satin he carried, too. She realized that he was being as reverent with it as possible, in spite of having to wad it against his body for protection. It was Christine's dress… the wedding dress he'd made especially for her. And in the alcove… lit by just a tiny candle… was a small shelf that contained several of Christine's things. There was a comb he'd bought for her, which she'd worn for him at times – although probably not to please him. There was her brush… and a pearl necklace probably meant to be worn with the wedding gown. Above this shelf Erik had erected a wooden board with sketches of Christine pinned to it, along with articles from newspapers that chronicled her rise to brief glory. He must have found these papers from all over the country.

"Oh…" she whispered, her stomach turning sickly.

It was so much worse than she had thought. Erik wasn't just _in pain_ … He was still … _**pining**_ for her.

"Oh, Erik…"

"Don't look!" he begged – releasing his face momentarily to seize her by a shoulder and begin advancing on her. He was trying to back her away from the evidence of his… his…

She didn't know what, exactly… but he was clearly ashamed of himself.

"My poor Erik!"

Instead of drawing away in disgust as he probably expected, she reached up and put her arms around him. It was not easy to stay; considering the reason he was out here. But she could not – simply _could_ not – walk away. Not when keeping secrets and grieving on his own clearly had done nothing to help him feel better.

He still gripped her shoulder, and tried to hold her at bay in his shock. But then she was holding him, pulling his head down to her shoulder. She wanted to rain kisses on his mostly bare scalp; but could feel how his body had stiffened. This was almost too much for him in and of itself… but he didn't draw away. It felt as though he couldn't resist the touch of another person, even if he thought it would have been best to avoid it.

"No!" he pleaded. "No… Arabella… You do not have to-"

"-I _want_ to." She whispered into his ear. " _Please,_ Erik. _Let_ me…?"

She didn't move or try to talk to him further. She just stood awkwardly holding him, stroking his skull and the space between his shoulder bones in the back. Erik gripped one of her shoulder as though he was going to push her away… but then he simply stood there. She could tell that he wasn't breathing; unable to cope with his guilt and grief in the face of her presented comfort and understanding.

"It's all right, Erik…" she finally whispered. "You aren't alone anymore…"

She was entirely surprised when this promise made him quite literally crumble. His knees buckled, and the arm around Christine's wedding dress jerked it up hard against his chest so that it could not hit the floor. Arabella had a hard time catching him; but he kept enough control over himself so that they knelt together and her arms tightened all the more around his shoulders.

"I miss her…" he admitted. "I shouldn't… but I miss her. I can't… I can't… seem to stop…"

"I know _miri kom_ …" Arabella whispered gently; trying to keep control of her own sudden need to cry. "I know… It's all right."

"No…" he admitted, shaking his head miserably against her shoulder as his hand finally released her and wrapped tight around her back. "It _isn't_ all right, Bella… It's horrible! Any _sane_ man would be happy right now… would forget the girl that didn't want him…"

"You aren't exactly what most people consider sane, Erik." She teased softly. "And it _is_ all right. You don't control what you feel. As much as I wish you could… you can't… or you would never have loved her at all."

"I am so selfish…" he seems to be ignoring her, but Bella feels how he has begun to rock, and she allows him to guide their body in that way as he clutches tighter to her. "You are the most compassionate, beautiful woman… and I know how much I loved you… I should not be so… so…"

"Erik, it's freezing out here." She offered after a few minutes of waiting for him to continue. "Why don't we go inside? I'll take care of you…"

"I wish I could rip out what I feel for her…" he murmurs, apparently not hearing her. "You don't deserve this… You don't deserve this pain… It's why I brought it all out here… why I hid it… You don't deserve this…"

She had seen him like this before – many times. These dark but mostly sad moods swelled over Erik like a tsunami and dragged him through a terrible undertow of loathing. Usually he would get fall-won drunk or intoxicated on morphine. But Arabella had made sure there was no morphine left to be had in the flat. While he was recovering from his attempted suicide, she had scoured the house so that he would not again poison himself with the liquid demon that had hounded him for so long. By the time he had recovered his strength, it had been out of his system for _weeks_ ; and didn't need to be introduced to it again.

Apparently, it wasn't the alcohol or morphine that instigated these depressions.

"Let's go inside." She insisted again; turning and lifting part of Christine's dress so that he would not have to fear it dragging on the ground. He clutched at the material he still held himself tighter – but didn't fight to get it away from her. She then caught Erik under one armpit and heaved, making him quickly stumble to his feet so she wouldn't hurt herself. It amazed her how instinctive Erik was when it came to keeping her safe by doing these kinds of tiny and thoughtless things. She doubted he even realized what he was doing.

She escorted him inside and lowered him into the chair by the fireplace before turning to the fireplace.

"Y-you shouldn't-"Erik began to protest, still clutching to the white gown in his lap.

"Hush." Arabella scolded. "You just take a minute, Erik. You aren't in any state to be doing anything right now."

There was a long minute of quiet as she ignited what was left of the logs on the fire and added fresh ones. It didn't give much warmth or light yet, but it was enough to rise and move around without hurting herself on something. She moved to Erik's liquor cabinet and poured a finger of scotch before turning back to him. He was huddled on the chair, still desperately trying not to leak his facial fluids all over Christine's dress.

 _ **A stiff drink?**_ Adnah asked skeptically, reminding her of his presence. _**He's already in a bad enough mood, and you want to add alcohol to that?**_

 _Not everyone is a cad like you when they have a little to drink._ She replies silently.

"Erik…" she encourages, pushing the scotch loser to him to draw his attention to it. "May I see the wedding dress, please? I'll put it away for you."

Reluctantly, Erik loosened his grip on the silk and satin gown and accepted the scotch. She expected him to desperately throw the entire contents back – but he did not. He merely took a sip, and sucked in a shaky breath. Arabella made certain to fold the gown carefully, smoothing the fabric as she went along so that he could see he was treating it with the utmost respect. Then she brought it back to the wardrobe and closed the dress away, being sure to put a few of her own new things on top of it to keep it out of sight and out of mind. He rarely went into the wardrobe – but at least next time he searched for it, his reaction would be enough for her to know what he was up to.

She returned quickly to the parlor. By then the new logs were burning merrily in the hearth of the fireplace, and she sat on the arm of his chair and put a gentle light arm over his shoulders. He had taken another obvious sip of the scotch while she was gone, and now he barely even seemed to register her presence and touch as he stared into the hypnotic flames.

"I haven't been comforted like that…" he said distantly, making her watch him in curiosity. "… Since before you ever left me…"

It hurt to be told she'd _left_ him – as though she'd been given a _choice_ as Christine had. But she didn't let the ache his words caused get to her. Erik was already in a miserably depressed mood. No doubt it would be hard to look at anything in his past as something that hadn't been carefully plotted against him. She sighed heavily and looked away, but she didn't take her arm from his shoulders. She thought maybe his thoughts were rambling, and in a moment if he spoke again it would be about something entirely different.

"You're the only one who ever … ever comforted me…" He whispered. "And if I could rip my love for Christine out … so that I couldn't hurt you anymore with it… I would…"

"I know that, Erik." She promised, not looking back at him again. Honestly, she was stunned that he actually realized – in that moment at least – that his grief was hurting her at all. Usually in these kinds of moods, Erik was oblivious to anything but his own feelings. It wasn't because of his selfishness. It was because he lost all ability to concentrate on anything around him.

"I can't even compose…" he moaned, apparently slipping into his despair as he buried his face in his hands and rubbed at it vigorously. "All that glorious music I could create with her… for her… Now every time I play I just feel hollow… like a music box with all the notes and absolutely _none_ of the inspiration or passion."

"Your music has _always_ been beautiful…" she admits. "But… I don't think that what you've written for her was your best. I actually thought it was rather… sterile."

He jerked his head up in her direction, blinking owlishly in astonishment.

"Is that your professional opinion?" he demanded.

Arabella slowly looked down into his eyes and smiled softly.

"I am biased." She admitted. "I think what you wrote for me had _far_ more fire. It was always so easy to want to dance when you played music for me… I loved how we fed off of each other. With the other songs… when you wrote inspired by _her_ … it sounded like something _any_ opera could adopt. _Any_ soprano could sing it."

" _Only_ Christine can sing my music!"

Erik half-rose from his seat in a brief flash of hot rage, but Arabella squeezed his shoulder with her arm and somehow managed to keep him down. She felt his body stiffen at the slight restraint… but it was astounding that he let her keep him still.

 _ **You know the kind of damage this man can cause. Be careful, Bella.**_

She ignored the voice entirely this time.

"Does that mean only _I_ can _dance_ to it?" she asked curiously.

Sighing, Erik let the rage drain out of him.

"I hurt you…" he moaned, rolling his head against the back of his chair to face away from her. "I do not mean to… I swear I do not…"

"Maybe you cannot compose because everything is still for _her_ in your mind." She suggested, ignoring what was not _quite_ an apology. "Maybe… if I danced for you like I used to… it would inspire something different - something that wouldn't remind you so much of her?"

"I always loved when you would dance…" he admitted slowly, his voice once more quiet and distant. It was clear that his mind was taking him in multiple confusing directions… He seemed tired and unable to entirely focus. "I can remember when … when you used to comfort me. I never forgot how you treated me… I used to feel like any other man. And I was just a scared and pathetic boy lying huddled in a cage… I think I fell in love with you before I ever even left that cage. I would still be there now if it weren't for you… or I would be dead…"

"I'm not the only who kept you alive." She pointed out. "Actually… it was also partly due to Adnah…"

Erik jolted so violently that what he had left of his scotch nearly splashed over the rim of his glass and onto his hand and wrist. He sat up ramrod straight and glared up into her eyes.

"How?" he demanded.

"We made an arrangement." She stated. "I would be a little kinder to him – mostly I would talk to him and eat an occasional meal with him. In return, he would keep himself and the others from beating you without what they felt good cause. And he would make sure you were given halfway decent food."

"But he tried to-"

"-That was later…" she interrupted. "When I started to show that I liked you… he became jealous. He tried to shut me out and began to hurt you again. That was when I went to Anton; and you were in your own tent by nightfall."

Erik shook his head, apparently flummoxed by the thought that Adnah was partly responsible for the little comforts he'd finally experienced. Adnah had always been there – one of his tormentors – but mostly in the background. Maybe Erik had assumed he was just another jackass who did what he was told by his more regular abuser.

"He was a degenerate." He decided stubbornly after a few moments.

"But he wasn't a complete monster, Erik." Arabella murmured gently. " _He_ tried to … hurt me. _You_ put explosives on a chandelier and set them off in the middle of a packed auditorium. _He_ beat many people mercilessly over the years –including you. _You_ kidnapped and extorted people. Neither of you are perfect."

He shook his head as though trying to ignore her attempt at common sense.

"Why would you stand up for someone like him?" he demanded.

"Because I cannot excuse the acts of one man and ignore the acts of another."

"What did I ever do to you?" he began to get irate again, but Arabella shook her head.

"Nothing." She said quickly. "But you have done far more than he ever did in general… and I do not think _you_ are a monster, either."

Sighing, Erik slumped completely in his chair.

Shivering, Arabella slowly rose from the arm of his chair … only to tentatively begin lowering herself into the seat on top of his lap. Erik's eyes had been at half-mast – but seeing and feeling her come so close made his body go taut with strain.

"What are you doing?" he nearly croaked. His arms went out to either side of him, giving her plenty of room to maneuver – but this was by sheer coincidence. He clearly didn't know how else to react.

"I am comforting you." She said simply, settling herself across his thighs and sliding her arms up around his shoulders. "Let me comfort you, _miri ves'tacha_."

"You do not need to get so close to me!" he protested almost desperately.

"But I _want_ to." She stated simply. "I am going to do what I can to help you be happy someday, Erik… and it is going to start _now_."

"I _am_ happy…" he began weakly. "… Happy that you are here… grateful for all you do for me. I would be dead now… Perhaps I'd be a true ghost just as you were… haunting her… unable to move on or to leave her…"

"I stayed because I _chose_ to, Erik." She pointed out gently. "If you cannot accept my comfort… then let me take some from you. Please hold me, Erik. We've both been lonely for so long… we can do this small thing for each other."

She could tell, even as he reluctantly settled his arms around her and drew her head to his shoulder, that there was _nothing_ simple about holding her. He had never held a woman across his lap before. He had never been so clearly embraced. Being wrapped up in the arms of a woman while he sat unmasked, wallowing in self-pity; and with his breath smelling of alcohol… it was clearly a confusing moment for him.

Eventually his arms relaxed around her, and he pressed his cheek to the top of her head. The quiet settled comfortably around them and Arabella was not entirely surprised to feel herself drifting off. It was the middle of the night, after all. She was in no way prepared to be awake for the day.

"I don't remember ever being held by someone…" he whispered into the dark.

"I held you on the day I … we … lost my daughter…" she replied almost instantly as though instinctively needing to prove he was not as deprived as he imagined. She winced at her bluntness, but was still floating somewhere between the land of consciousness and the land of dreams. "I love you, Erik."

He sighed, moving one hand to gently stroke at her hair.

"You are the only one to ever tell me so." He breathed into her tresses. "I hope someday I can love you the way you love me. You deserve at least that much love from a man…"

"I only want love from one man…" she mumbled.

Her tone of voice and the slight slur in it seems to make him away how heavy her body is getting in his arms.

"You should not be up at this hour." He mumbles, as though scolding hiself. "Hold on a little tighter, Bella."

She obeys, and then clutches even _tighter_ as he almost smoothly rises to his feet with her in his arms. She doesn't open her eyes, though. She can feel the sway of his gait as he walks her through the house and settles her onto the mattress. He tries to roll her partially away from him so that he can release her and pull the blankets up over her body, but she doesn't want to let go of him. She holds onto one of his forearms in a steady but weak grip even as she sinks deeper into sleep.

"Don't go…"

"I am not going anywhere, _ma belle_ …" he promises, settling onto his ide of the bed and changing her hold on him so that she clutches his hand. "Sweet Bella…"

Before he can say more – if, indeed, he said any more – Arabella drops off to sleep. She doesn't know how long they'd been sitting in his chair together, just taking comfort in one another. It was hard to judge time when your body insisted it should be sleeping instead of wandering around and talking. No doubt Erik would not sleep again – at least for a while. He needed more sleep than he used to; but still not as much as most people. Just like with food, he was able to function on much less.

She dreamed about the gypsy camp that night… about all the times they had sat together on the edge of his stage and talked. She dreamed about one night sitting under a tree when he'd picked debris out of her hair. She dreamed about Erik holding her up from behind as a beautiful new life was lost from inside of her… and all the love and comfort he'd shown as a boy… She dreamed of nothing but his tenderness…. And wished that somehow it could still be theirs to share.


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N: I thought about holding onto this so I could get more ahead of the game. BUT... given the stretches between chapters, you all deserve a little extra for being such faithful readers! Please repay me with some reviews! Y'all know I'm a review junkie! Just be patient for Ch. 17! I don't even really have it started yet! (Luckily I do not think it will take another MONTH.)**

* * *

If Arabella knew how often he'd sat, stood, or lay nearby watching her sleep, Erik was sure she would be disgusted with him. This was especially true tonight, after he'd had the beautiful young gypsy woman crawl into his lap and snuggle against his chest like a contented kitten. He was never unaware that she was beautiful, and that he was physically attracted to her; but he could usually ignore any _hint_ of those thoughts when they came to the surface. Tonight, though, after holding a lovely and full-bodied girl in his lap with her weight gently settled close to the most intimate parts of him … It was not nearly as easy to do.

It was so much more than his reaction to unexpectedly having a lap full of woman, though.

Arabella proved herself day after day to be an attentive, compassionate, and caring person. She had more compassion than was healthy for _any_ human being – never mind one that had suffered so much pain and betrayal. He still could not understand how her goodness had survived. He never could have blamed her if she was as bitter and skeptical as he himself was; but she was the same vivacious and caring girl her grandfather had probably known.

She deserved a man that loved her with all of his heart and soul… someone that didn't have the kind of damage he did. She deserved a man that worshipped her, and wasn't torn to bits at the very thought of a completely different woman. She deserved a _normal_ life!

What had _he_ ever done to prove _himself_ to _her_? He could understand why she felt safer around him - because he made no physical demands. He'd even protected her to the best of his ability in the past, and chosen to take responsibility for the predicament she'd found herself in while pregnant with Aria. He could _understand_ her gratitude. What he couldn't _**fathom**_ was her unending loyalty; and her patience when it came to sitting and comforting him as he mourned another woman. Ever since her return, all he'd done was tell her that he did not love her as she wanted or deserved. All he had done was pine for Christine Daae and try to keep all but emotionally detached from her.

He had not been lying when he told her that if possible, he would tear his love of Christine out of himself and destroy it.

Because he _loved_ Arabella! He loved her _very **much**_!

He just… he couldn't _tell_ her! He couldn't put those words out into the open that way! If he did, it would be like tempting fate to come in and rip her away again. And he _did_ still love Christine! He _did_ still want her back! Loving two women simultaneously was a predicament he would never have imagined himself in. Absolutely never! But... here he was.

Christine was the beatific idol he'd worshipped – at first from afar. Even when the Vicomte had appeared, Erik had never once believed her capable of outright, direct deception. He had not thought her capable of longing for Raoul de Chagney in any way that wasn't pure and virtuous. In spite of the rage he'd felt, and the clear manipulation she had tried to work on him, he still to this day found it impossible to believe she could be guilty of _any_ crime or sin. She was blonde, pale skinned, blue-eyed, soft-spoken, demure, obedient… She was everything a proper European lady ought to be. Her voice was high, and crystalline, and technically perfect.

Arabella was almost precisely the opposite. He didn't think she was capable of crimes or sin, exactly… and she certainly wasn't _dis_ obedient or loud… But she had a waterfall of beautiful dark hair, olive-toned skin, and eyes like caramel. She was more brazen and opinionated. She was curious. She was _passionate_. Her voice was low and husky in sound – the voice of an alto rather than a coloratura soprano. Both her voice _and_ her dancing were raw and creative and spontaneous – just like the rest of her personality.

The only thing they had in common was their inability to believe in themselves.

Christine had lost her father and had needed someone to make her believe in herself again; to fill the hole her father's death had left in her heart.

Arabella had lost her innocence and her self-worth due to her father and tribe. She'd been beaten down – but never quite broken – until finally she'd made a decision that ultimately took her life. She had broken – just not in a way that made her unable to mend. She had needed a way to feel safe again. She had needed to feel genuinely loved for who she was and not what someone else wanted her to be.

Neither woman was more right or wrong, or better or worse than the other. They were just polar opposites…

It was no wonder he was so drawn to them.

There was just one important difference that he _had_ to take into account.

Arabella was _here_. She was with him. She treated him as though he were a completely normal human being. She looked at him unmasked without flinching or grimacing. She saw exactly who and what he had been and would continue to be. And… best of all… she didn't judge him harshly for any of it.

Christine had not been able to do _any_ of that.

What was he _doing_ , continuing to pine for her and mourn her absence? He had already promised himself multiple times that he would open his mind and heart to Arabella. He'd thought he was doing well… but the obvious sorrow his grief over Christine had caused tonight made it clear he was _not_ doing so well _at all_. He'd known his secrets would hurt Arabella – which was why he'd tried to hide them from her. But he had not expected her to ignore them in favor of comforting him!

She thought it was the perfect way to cover her discomfort and pain. But Erik was beginning to realize just how well he had once known her. He knew that she was hurt more deeply than she pretended. It was probably why she'd chosen to comfort him by making such bold physical contact.

This _had_ to stop. He _had_ to stop longing for Christine. He _had_ to put her behind him and turn to the future … maybe one with Arabella. He had to show her how much he appreciated her presence, and how happy she generally _did_ make him just by being there.

Sighing, he tentatively reached out and brushed his fingertips along the side of her face.

Arabella hummed and shifted slightly on her pillow, making him draw back in quick embarrassment. But she didn't wake.

"I love you." He breathed – more experimental than anything else. He tasted the words and the way his body reacted to them. He was surprised to realize it almost felt like a cloud of fireflies had begun to swarm in his body – all of them giving off a soft rosy light. Clearing his throat quietly, he tried one more time. "I love you, ma _belle_."

It was true. He'd already known it was… but he was surprised just how strong the surge of emotion was when he said the phrase to include his special nickname for her.

Well then… He was going to have to try even harder to open himself up to her when she was _awake_ – _**wasn't**_ he?

Sighing, he nodded and closed his eyes.

It wasn't his intention to fall asleep. He only wanted to inspect the emotions warming him from the inside out. But Arabella's breathing was so hypnotically even… the faint smell of her was so comforting… and he could even at that moment still feel the heat her body had left imprinted on him when she sat in his lap.

He hadn't wanted to sleep… but he did.

* * *

He had been dreaming...

He was back in his childhood home, watching his mother as she slept.

This was not something he'd ever made an actual habit of as a child in real life; but he had certainly done it once or twice. Part of it had been the challenge of breaking into his mothers' locked room without waking her up. Another part of it had all been about seeing her in such a relaxed state. She didn't look very old at all when she slept, and without being so tense with stress, disgust, and hate, she looked even more beautiful. He liked to glimpse her in that state.

Unlike in reality, however, a young dream Erik crept close to his mothers' bed and covered her hand with his.

"I love you, _maman_ …" he whispered.

Then he'd leaned down to press a kiss to her cheek – something that would undoubtedly have resulted in a near-deadly beating if he'd tried it in real life.

The sensation of something brushing his lips was _far_ too vivid, though, and Erik awoke to the sight of two catlike caramel eyes staring at him only an inch or two away. He gasped, rearing backward and rolling away. Before he could even register who the eyes belonged to, the bed disappeared from beneath his back, and he went tumbling to the floor with a cry of surprise and dismay. The landing didn't hurt - but he felt the instant sting of wounded pride.

For a long moment, gasping for breath, he stared at the dim and distant ceiling. He blinked rapidly, feeling heat infuse his cheeks as Arabella tentatively crawled to his side of the bed and peered at him over the edge. She looked a little pale, her caramel eyes wide with astonishment and anxiety.

"I'm sorry…" she whispered. "You seemed so peaceful. I didn't mean to _wake_ you. I just… I thought I could steal a tiny moment…"

Having caught his breath and slowed his heartbeat, Erik slowly sat up and began to grasp his way into a standing position.

"It's all right…" he sighed. "I was dreaming… that I gave my mother a kiss… "

"How flattering..." Arabella rolled her eyes and turned away, reaching for where she usually left her dressing gown; before realizing she still had it on due to their midnight encounter by his secret shrine. "I kiss like _your mother_."

"That is _not_ what I _said_!" he objected. "Bella – I wasn't pulling away from _you_! I was still partly in that dream! My mother would have _whipped_ me for that kind of audacity! I … I wouldn't draw away from _you_ like that - **_ever_**!"

More heat rose into his unmasked cheeks and he glanced around, anxiously wondering if she was annoyed at his strong reaction. He was very afraid that if he wasn't careful, she would soon grow tired of all his reticence and leave him alone. The last thing he wanted was to be alone again. _Any_ company would _suffice_ … but he particularly didn't want to lose _Bella_! Even thought he wasn't entirely certain that he could keep true to those words ... he new that losing Arabella could very well be _almost_ worse than losing Christine. It would be the second time he lost her, if he was not careful.

"No, I understand." She said with a flippant wave of her hands, as though shooing away a cloud of moths. But she seemed agitated. Her face was blotchy with her own hot blush as she left the room and headed across the parlor towards the kitchen. Erik glanced briefly down at the bed, where he mask still lay beside his pillow… then hurried after her without it.

She glanced over her shoulder as she opened the kitchen door, and saw him coming.

"I didn't mean to wake you! You should go and get some more rest!"

"I didn't mean to sleep in the _first_ place." He admitted, continuing to follow her as she rushed into the kitchen to put distance between them. Trying not to crowd her, but not wanting her to think he didn't care whether or not she was distraught, he remained by the door as she bustled about preparing tea. "I don't know how I managed to drift off before, but I am _wide_ awake now."

She finally stopped pacing, and stood over the stove staring down at the kettle. Her shoulders were tense, and her face was still bright red with embarrassment.

"Bella…"

She glanced away from him, and he stepped cautiously towards her with a sigh. He hated the thought of her being embarrassed. She had willingly tried to _kiss_ him, for heaven's sake. That was all!

As if anyone being willing to kiss him - even while he slept unaware - could ever be put so simply. It wasn't ' _all'_ to him; but he understood it might be to a majority of the world. The point was that she had no reason to be embarrassed. He hadn't caught her stealing, or trying to molest him. He'd just been in the entirely wrong state of mind to be able to process what she was doing in a way she could find flattering or even promising.

" _Ma belle_ …" he tried again, keeping his voice carefully low and gentle. "Please… look at me…"

The nickname certainly caught her attention. He tried not to use it on most days, worrying about leading her on. But he used it quite deliberately now, and she _knew_ it. He watched as her caramel eyes lifted towards his own golden ones.

He stepped close enough to reach out and gently take her shoulders.

"I know I didn't react well." He admitted. "But being awakened with _a kiss_ …" he let loose a surprised chuckle. "… It is the best way I have ever wakened in my entire life! And if it _ever_ happens again - if you _ever_ decide to kiss me again - I _promise_ that I will react better. I will _not_ shy away from you. Perhaps my reaction still will not be what you _want_... but I _will not_ make you feel so clumsy or unwelcome again."

"Don't tease me, Erik. " She sighed, pulling gently out of his grip to again stare at the kettle. "We are both people who cannot seem to stop living in the past. Only … the past I live in is different from the past _you_ live in. You don't have to worry about me kissing you again any time soon. I was foolish..."

"I would _never_ tease you." He insists. "And it wasn't foolish. Bella-"

"I have my first fitting tomorrow." She changed the subject abruptly, clearly uncomfortable with his sudden openness. She didn't seem to know how to react to it, particularly after he had been so bereft the night before over a different woman. "The seamstress and I are going to begin trying to plan my masquerade costume."

Erik took a reluctant step back, deciding to let her change the subject. He could not press her, and force her to believe in him or hope for his love. He had not proven himself to her. She had every right to doubt him after what she'd seen the night before. It pained him that he had hurt her so deeply. He had made her doubt him so thoroughly that she didn't even trust what he said. It was a quiet kind of agony to realize just how much of a trial opening himself up and winning her over was going to be. It did not help him any that she was still thinking about that damnable masquerade. He still wasn't comfortable with the thought of going. Too many memories... But she was so excited about it... and often found ways to speak of it during her "lady" lessons ... he couldn't deprive her.

"Do you already have something in mind?" he asked curiously.

"Well… I had been thinking about a peacock." She admitted. "But lately I've been thinking of the Shakespeare you've been reading to me. I was thinking… maybe Ophelia."

"Oh, _mon dieu!_ _**Please**_ do not wear _that_." he entreats instantly. Cold sweeps over him, and his stomach churns sickly. "Ophelia _drowned_ herself! It would… it would just… be … too close to …"

"To reality?" Arabella whispered, raising an eyebrow at him. He could scarcely believe how easily she read his mind, and how comfortable she appeared to be with the parallels.

He swallowed thickly.

"Yes…" he admitted. "What about Senta, from Wagner's ' _The Flying Dutchman'_? I think it seems very fitting. Senta was a woman who saved The Dutchman-"

"-who _also_ killed herself." Arabella pointed out.

"Yes…" he agreed. "But The Dutchman was willing to sail away and set Senta free. When she killed herself, it was for his salvation – proving herself faithful to him unto her death so that the curse on him and his men was finally broken. Her death was a _sacrifice -_ not a... a waste..."

"She _still_ killed herself."

"In doing so, she saved him even against his own will." Erik pressed. "They go to heaven together. You are far more like Senta than Ophelia. You try to save everyone - even from themselves. Everyone, that is, but yourself."

Arabella bit out a harsh, bitter laugh.

" _Me_? Save _you_ – against your will?" she challenged. " _No one_ can make you do anything you don't _wish_ to."

"That is not true. I have many memories of-"

"- _You_ are not the Dutchman, Erik." She interrupted a little angrily. " _You_ have to **_want_** to be saved. The Dutchman tried to save Senta - not continue on as damned due to his own self pity."

Erik froze, blinking in astonishment at the beautiful and heated woman before him. Coldness spread through his gut for a moment, and he swallowed the bile seeing her pain brought to his throat. He hated when she felt so … so…

He reached towards her, but didn't dare touch her. He wanted to comfort her, knowing that this was a reaction to how he had been behaving towards her as of late… and hated himself for it.

He _wanted_ to be saved… He just didn't know how to confess this to her. He also wanted to save her in turn… since she was so clearly floundering in the uncertain waters of his regard. But how was he to prove this to her? He didn't even know where to begin. He was not the more-or-less reasonably confident boy who had been able to court Arabella - consequences be damned - in the past. He had known too much pain and loss. As much as he wanted to open himself to her... that meant more vulnerability than he thought he could ever be truly comfortable with. He would have to trust her as much as he wanted her to trust him. How was he supposed to _do_ that?

"The water is boiling." He finally managed to mutter lamely.

He watched as she made two cups of tea before passing one to him. The fine china felt scalding on his fingers and against the top of his palm. He scrambled desperately for something to say; a way to open the door his strange reaction to her kiss had apparently closed.

"Bella… perhaps… perhaps I can play for you today."

She glanced at him a little uncertainly, and he took the moment to pounce on her offered attention.

"I will play whatever pleases you." He offered swiftly. "And, if you would like, you could _dance_ while I play! I can be just as it _used_ to be."

She took a thoughtful sip of her tea, lowering herself into the chair at the kitchen table. He saw how tempting this idea was to her, but did not physically pursue her across the kitchen. He did not need to be physically overbearing to draw her out again.

"You never did play that song all the way through for me." She finally stated. "Your _'Phoenix Arise'_ …"

Again, moisture clogged his throat. This time it was more salty than acidic. He remembered how strange playing had felt that day. It had actually startled him to hear that tune come pouring out of the piano. He hadn't even realized what he was playing for a few seconds. He'd locked the memory of that song up so tight in his head that he had never expected it to escape. But... it had felt right. Now? Now... he wasn't entirely sure he had the strength to open that door again.

"You told me that you wrote it _for me_." She pressed, seeing his obvious hesitation. He wasn't sure if she was trying to be convincing, or if she was annoyed with him. "Shouldn't I be allowed to hear the song written in my honor?"

"Of course." He agreed with a strained smile. "I will go and tune my violin right now."

"Violin?" she reared back ever-so-slightly in confusion. "You played it for me on the piano before. If you wrote it at Giovanni's, as you said, then you would have composed it on the… the… What was that instrument?"

"A spinet." Erik smiled nostalgically. "It's old-fashioned… it predates the piano. But I always used to play for your dances on the violin. It simply will not have the same effect if I play it on piano instead of how it was meant to truly be played. And it is _entirely_ wrong for the organ."

He had won her over a little. It was obvious in how eagerly she trailed him from the kitchen to the parlor. She didn't even bring her tea – but left it to grow cold on the kitchen table. Erik placed his own tea on the mantle above the fire – a space barely large enough for such a purpose. Then he opened his violin case, tuning the instrument as Arabella meandered around the parlor and watched him with eyes that should have been in the head of a Siamese cat.

"Are you going to dance in that night dress?" he asked in amusement.

Arabella glanced down as though only just realizing she was not properly dressed.

"No, of course I'm not." She turned pink once again – only this time the color was gentle and flattering as she hurried into the bedroom. "I must not be fully awake yet…"

Erik knew perfectly well she was really just distracted. They had been having a very interesting time together since her return – but at absolutely no time had they been more unsettled than the past twelve hours or so. They had both had to come to terms with the fact that Erik was no closer to recovering from his heartbreak than he had been a month previous. But… he hoped he could prove to her, now, that he was at least capable of surviving it. He could look forward instead of back. He could continue to live...

All thanks to her.

He finished tuning the violin and ran a few experimental scales on it. He nodded briefly to himself, and then moved on to tinkering with Niccolò Paganini's Caprice No. 24. He was a little nervous about seeing her dance again… about finally playing this incredibly secret and intimate song as it was meant to be played. What if she did not like it? What if it affected her badly? She had always been particularly susceptible to the sometimes hypnotic quality of his music when he put enough power behind it. And for a song that had been written during the darkest part of his mourning process… he could not imagine emotion not coming to the surface…

But considering the relative ease with which he maneuvered himself through the beginning of what was known as one of the hardest violin pieces ever written… he thought he could at least play the tune _correctly_. It certainly would not demand the same kind of technical skill as Paganini.

Arabella returned … her hair pulled back into a tight braid and her body sheathed in a red dancing dress.

 _The_ red dress…

Erik's breath caught a moment, and he had to concentrate even harder on the Caprice for a few moments – just for distraction.

He ought not to have been shocked. Of _course_ she would pick this dress to wear. It was the only dancing dress she possessed. But… every time he'd ever thought of her while writing this song, she had been wearing this dress. She was so graceful and beautiful… even alluring… It was going to be nearly impossible to make it through his song while she wore that dress!

She still took his breath away. Why he hadn't realized this when she first returned, he wasn't certain. Perhaps it was only because he'd been too weak – physically and emotionally – to realize and acknowledge it. But now… after realizing he was falling in love once more with his late wife…

The thought sent chills through him, but he suppressed the shudder it inspired. Never had such a strange line of thoughts come to his mind. It sounded like something out of a Gothic horror story...

"Are you ready?" he asked softly, damning how husky his voice had gone in only a moment.

"Absolutely…" she smiled broadly at him – excitedly.

"This… is not like what you are used to." He warned, wondering if he was trying to convince her to change her mind. Not that it would have mattered. Arabella loved to dance, and he could tell she'd been wanting to for some time since her return. And she could be incredibly stubborn. No doubt she wouldn't back down, even if he splintered the violin over his knee.

He briefly wiped his palms on the thighs of his trousers to free them of a cold sweat before lifting the violin to his chin once again. He closed his eyes, drew in a long and deep steadying breath, and then drew the bow across the strings in a languid array of low notes that sounded to him like tears of amber.

Of course it all came back then. Every single beautiful, agonizing memory and emotion came back in a torrent of sound. He opened his eyes very carefully, watching Arabella as she did nothing more at first than sway to the music, her own eyes closed so that she could take in the full impact of what began as nothing more than a cry of grief. He could tell instantly that she was likely to cry… and he hoped he wasn't doing the wrong thing by playing this for her. He hoped that if it was too much, she would tell him, and that she wouldn't force herself to dance.

He could remember being a widower man when most boys his own age only had a vivid imagination telling them what the difference was between men and women. He could recall every single nuance of what it had been like to lose the single person who had ever looked at his face and seen him as normal. She hadn't been pretending, either. Arabella had seen his deformity, and she had never pretended it didn't exist. But it had mattered _so little_ to her that it might as well not have been there at all.

The music was written almost like a combination of two or three different types of music. It started with what he'd come to understand was a traditional Csardas, a Hungarian Gypsy style that began slow and built up momentum – just as many of their prior dances together had done. There was also a kind of Flamenco flair to it – inspired by the dancing she did on her own when he hadn't been playing. She'd lived in Spain for a large portion of her life, after all. Of course he would want to infuse her essential nationality into her … requiem.

But something else was there this time, as the music left sorrow behind and built into something more. It was something he'd never indented to be there… something that hadn't existed when he wrote the song. Somehow he'd managed to infuse it with a touch of Arabian and Indian style… making him think of harem girls performing at the celebration for the new Grand Vizier… of the veiled women and their swiveling hips and undulating stomachs.

As he watched Arabella dance in his underground flat, it was utterly impossible not to remember their past performances together.

 _Beauty and the Beast_ , the crowds had named them. In the fairy tale, the love of beauty and saved the beast and transformed that monstrous gentleman into a handsome prince. It was far from the cruel reality – in which the beauty had died and left the Beast to degenerate into a true monster. But while it had lasted… when they had performed together as that titled pair… it had been so glorious! She had been so beautiful, and given him so much happiness! He had actually dared to dream, when they stood on that stage together! For Arabella he'd have lived with the gypsies his entire life; travelling from place to place while living in a tent or caravan. He'd have become a 'true gypsy' in every plausible sense of the word.

He could not help smiling at the memory of how the sweet and relatively shy – but uncommonly brazen, in his _gaje_ eyes - gypsy girl had accepted his foolishly boyish attempts at courtship. She had never really questioned him, or laughed at him. She had never even seemed to _truly_ doubt him – unless overwhelmed by other outside matters, such as her unexpected and unwanted pregnancy. But even then, she hadn't doubted him… she'd just feared him courting her for the wrong reasons at that time. He could recall exactly what it had been like to be a lovesick boy painfully experiencing love and life for the first time.

Long before the music ended, Arabella had lifted her skirts and begun moving in all the graceful ways he could recall from their past. There was more than grace in her movements and the gaze that slowly lost the sheen of tears. There was the fiery heat of a furnace running full blast. There was the passion and love of ages… There was even a sensuality that had never existed before – perhaps inspired by the mere hint of Arabic inspiration. He had never seen her exactly like this… so confident in not only her skills, but with the body with which she expressed herself. It was clear that she might be in a very young body blessed with abundant premature curves… but the soul inside of that body was at the very _least_ the same age he was. Arabella had matured enormously over her thirty years as a spirit.

It was intimidating… enthralling… exciting…

He was breathing heavily, his entire body trembling, as he ended the music and watched her drop into a low curtsey so that one leg stretched back behind the other, and her arms stretched towards the ceiling. Her chest was heaving, sweat glistening over her exotic skin …

 _No!_ He scolded himself vehemently. _No! You will_ _ **not**_ _think like that only two_ _ **seconds**_ _after a song meant to honor and mourn her! Do not_ _ **dare**_ _it!_

It was exactly as it had been when they were both so very young… and he found the corners of his mouth twitching in an amused and slightly ironic smile as he put the violin aside. He and Arabella were staring at each other as she rose back to her full height and stepped towards him.

In spite of how he'd just scolded himself, he couldn't help recognizing the closeness this mutual performance made him feel. It was… intensely intimate. He wanted to rush directly up to her, lift her up into his arms, and embrace her. He even wanted to _kiss_ her. Wanted to-

 _ **Stop**_ _it, you brute!_

There was no need to scold himself so harshly. Yes, he wanted to hold and kiss her. He wanted to touch her. But... that was all. He wanted to feel as physically close as he did emotionally in that single moment.

"I missed our dances…" he admited instead. "So very much…"

Arabella smiled at him tremulously, reaching over to lightly grasp his hand and stroke her thumb across the back of it.

"I missed them, too." She told him. "I missed the passion of your violin. You… you haven't played like that in… in decades. Not since leaving the tribe. Even _Don Juan_ isn't… like _that_ …"

"My _Don Juan_ was a long time in the making…" Erik gently pulled himself from her grasp ad turned to carefully settle the violin and bow back into the cradle of their case. He couldn't keep looking at her like that – flushed ad still panting slightly. She was far too beautiful for her own good! Her gaze was too intense, too tender but passionate. He couldn't face it! "Only a part of it was ever… due to Christine…"

He was surprised by how much easier it was to say that name in this context. Perhaps that was because, in that moment, he was utterly consumed by Arabella instead.

"I could not allow myself to play that… or even _like_ that." he admitted. "I thought if I dared to… the fire in it would consume me… and that I would be destroyed… that the fire would burn out of all control… There was too much grief. I couldn't play even a few bars without seeing you dancing in my imagination. It was all too much for me… I had to stop all together…"

Sighing, he closed the violin and secured the locks.

"But you still wrote this for me…" she said, clear awe in her voice.

"Yes." He agreed, slowly turning to face her again and daring to reach out and gently take her arm just underneath the curve of her shoulder. "It was easier if I did not play it anywhere but in my own mind. It just… it would not leave me alone until I acknowledge it in some way. So … the spinet was my tool… although most of it I only put down on paper before burning it. I couldn't carry that pain with me any more than I could play it out loud… but it stayed with me forever after that… locked away in my mind. Having you here again… it unlocked that door…"

"Thank you, Erik…" She reached up with her opposite hand and covered the one gently holding her. "Thank you for writing it for me… for remembering me… Thank you for playing it for me now. You don't have any idea what it means to me."

"I think I do." He managed a weak smile, and then released her in order to take a step back and create more space between them. "We should do something else now. What would you say to maybe… some reading? You seemed to be enjoying _Captain Fracasse_."

Arabella blinked in momentary confusion at his change in topic.

"That… that would be all right…" she mused, although she seemed a little reluctant. "I should go and make something to eat, first, though. I think the dancing…"

"The playing took a bit out of me, too." He agreed. "So… we shall have some breakfast, then read. Perhaps we can have some of our more usual lessons? – And… maybe later this evening, if you'd like - we could go out of the house? We could go and sit on the boat… or through the Opera House passages spying on what is occurring…?"

She frowned slightly as they returned to the kitchen.

"I suppose the Opera doesn't interest you much." He interpreted with wry humor. "What would _you_ prefer we do?"

She took a long time to respond; searching for bread and cheese to slice for food.

"The roof?" she finally suggested. "I haven't been outside in … a long time. I could use the fresh air, I think…"

"The roof…" he considered unhappily. "No, ma belle. I'm sorry. Not at any time even close to during the day. It just wouldn't be safe. But… but it is cold enough out where perhaps a walk through the Bois is permissible? Towards evening the place will be nearly abandoned."

He saw her face light up, and he felt as though a fist had gripped him somewhere inside his stomach. It was a radiance he loved to see encompass her. For weeks now he had been keeping her below – consciously forgetting how gypsies needed sunshine and air to truly thrive. She had been _raised_ out of doors! How could he have been so uncomfortable going above that he would forget this and neglect her need of special freedom? He cursed himself for being so selfish and unseeing to how pale her exotic skin had gotten over time. Living in a cold catacomb below the city was no healthy way for a woman like Arabella to live!

"Yes!" she agreed eagerly. "That would… that would be _lovely_ , Erik! I would _love_ to walk the park with you! It would be like… like any normal _gaje_ husband and wife would do!"

Again the breath caught in his throat.

A walk in the park… with … with his _wife_ … It wasn't exactly as he had dreamed it would be… it was not a Sunday morning, and the wife in question was someone who had been dead for over thirty years… But Arabella had picked up on the single time he'd confessed this fantasy to Christine and seemed to remember it. How was she so thoughtful as to remember something so trivial?

Sighing, he closed his eyes and tried very hard not to let her see how shaken he was.

"Then … then we will go to the Bois de Vincennes this evening." He promised. "I… would prefer that over the Bois de Boulogne, if you're agreeable…"

He took the plate of cheese and bread she'd prepared, still smiling as she began to talk about one night years before; when she'd been walking silent and unknown beside him through the gardens of the park very late on a midsummer night. Erik could just barely recall the excursion at first; but the memory drifted back at her excitement.

He didn't quite have the heart to remind her that none of the blossoms would be out this late in the year. But warm and blossoming or cold and bereft… he could make a walk in the moonlight something special for her. Surely he could think of a way by that evening…

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 _ **A/N: Please R &R! I love hearing from you!**_

 _ **Thank you E.M.K.81, as always! Clearly diverged a lot here but... well... one author writing out one POV vs. 2 of each... LOL. Makes a huge difference.**_


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N: More editing issues this week. I haven't managed any typo, wording, or spelling issues... Please let me know if they were too numerous. I'll just have to take longer between posts if it was.**

* * *

Arabella felt almost confused as she stepped out of the shuttered cab with Erik; each of them bundled up so tightly that no one would ever suspect them of being a gypsy or masked man. If anyone were to spot them in the park – quite unlikely given the time of day and year – they'd merely be seen as an elegant gentleman with his face wrapped in a scarf, and his lady. She was very happy to be out of the hose, in spite of the bitterness of the cold and the lack of sunshine or bright moonlight.

It had apparently been sleeting earlier. It left the ground covered in a sparkling blanket of frost and ice. Now, there was no sleet. Now as the clouds broke up overhead, there were only a few random snowflakes drifting prettily down through the air.

Erik silently offered her his arm, and she took it almost without thought before he began to guide her through the entrance of the Bois.

He had been rather attentive all day. She didn't quite understand why. Was it guilt over his behavior and revealed secret the evening before? Was he still unhappy about the masquerade?

It couldn't have been the dance she'd performed … could it? She hadn't done something wrong, had she?

 _ **Stop it, Bella.**_ Adnah sighed, somewhere close to her opposite side. _**I'm sure everything is fine. He has always had his quiet days… and he never claimed not to care about you. Why wouldn't he be more attentive at least occasionally?**_

Now Adnah was standing up for Erik instead of mocking him? This day was _truly_ getting strange. Arabella sighed, looking around and moved so close to Erik that their bodies almost brushed with each step.

"Are you frightened?" he asked in instant concern.

"No…" she admitted. "It's just cold… your body blocks some of the wind."

He chuckled quietly, motioning that she should pick which path they went down. He seemed filled with infinite patient as she glanced over their options, agonizing over whether or not she would pick the most interesting one. She hadn't been to the Bois de Vincennes enough to remember even half of the grounds, or what direction anything was in. Eventually, though, she motioned down one path and let Erik guide her.

"It's all so perfect." She admitted after several minutes of walking. They'd been in companionable silence – enjoying the quiet that overtook the world when any kind of snow fell. There were a few night sounds – and they were still close enough to the outskirts of the park to hear sounds of the city – but all of these were dampened. "It's almost too perfect. Nature rarely looks like this."

"That's because the park isn't entirely natural." Erik informed, taking on a tone of voice he often adopted when instructing her during their lessons. Most people would feel patronized by such little lectures… but he always fascinated Arabella. She was rarely bored and almost never felt talked down to. "The trees, grass, and flowers are all real, of course. But the lakes were man made – like _my_ lake. Every detail about how most of the flowers grow – which types, colors, shapes – they're all meticulously planned. Even the grotto under the Temple of Love is artificial."

"Even with all the flowers dead… it's almost obvious." She agreed, realizing that the very mention of a Temple of Love was making her blush a little. She felt ridiculous when such simple things could affect her so strongly. It was almost as though she couldn't get any firm grasp on common sense and logical thinking; because even the mere _concept_ of love threw her body and soul into a frenzy of excitement… and longing.

"Almost?" This time Erik did not chuckle. This time he outright laughed. "Nature has her designs… but nothing as meticulous as this. "So… is there something you would like to see? Or are we just taking in the air?"

"I… I don't know…" she admitted, ducking her chin and burying half of her face into the fur collar of her cloak. Let him think her pink cheeks were due to windburn. "It would be nice to see the grotto."

 _ **Don't you mean the Temple of Love?**_

 _I did not ask you to come along._

 _ **I would not miss this romantic little stroll for the world.**_

Sighing, Arabella lifted a hand to rub at her temple in mild agitation.

"Bella… are you all right?" Erik asked, again clearly concerned.

"I am." She insisted. "It's just… sometimes our unseen companion has too much to say."  
She glanced up and saw that Erik's eyes had gone hard.

"Adnah…" he bit out in warning. It sounded as though he spoke through clenched teeth. "Have you nothing better to do than harass us?"

 _ **I am harassing no one!**_

"Never mind him, Erik." She squeezed his arm lightly through his thick coat. "He's harmless now. I came out here to be with _you_ , that's all. _That's_ why he is … irritating. He is behaving more like an annoying brother than a malicious spook."

She could feel Erik stiffen very briefly, but then he was carefully guiding her along the path until they came to a sloping path that led towards a bridge. It wasn't even a hill, really, but he was extra cautious guiding her along.

"The grotto and temple are just this way…" he murmured. "You can see the temple from here… see? It's just up that rise…"

Arabella nodded, peering through the naked limbs of trees and along ice-encrusted ground where grass and flowers usually thrived in warmer weather. It was not full dark yet, and the bit of light lingering after sunset was enough to make out the silhouette of the small white pavilion he referred to. It was clear that the temple was on some kind of steep hill – or the edge of a cliff.

"We should be quiet, and careful." Erik suggested, unnecessarily dropping his voice so it was nearly sub audible. It amused her in a confused sort of way that he leaned down to murmur into her ear, which pulled them closer together and made the moment feel almost flirtatious. But… she knew Erik well enough to understand he was only in a mischievous mood. "The temple and grotto are quiet places, with dark alcoves that sweethearts sometimes escape to for some often unwise privacy…"  
Arabella felt heat crawl up into her cheeks, and she glanced around a little nervously.

 _ **You cannot be faulted this time.**_ Adnah chuckled in amusement. _**Even to me that sounds a bit like a suggestion.**_

She ignored the specter haunting her the very best she could, her pulse thrumming away in her carefully gloved wrist like the beating of hummingbirds wings.

 _He doesn't mean it that way._

"I've come down here at night…" Erik continued, with his eyes glimmering merrily behind the mask. "…and I've been known to interrupt a few amorous couples who were enjoying the shadows of the grotto and temple. This is a place where eager boys stammer out recitations of love poems to the best of their memory. If the girl is decent… it will end there."

"And… if she is not so decent?" Arabella considered loosening the ties by her throat. But… it was much too cold. She'd rather have an embarrassing amount of difficulty with the topic than freeze.

"Then he lures her into the shadows of the grotto… and is seldom married later on."

There is almost malicious glee in Erik's voice, and Arabella feels a stab of pain on his behalf. It was no wonder to her – who knew him so well – that he'd entertained himself in such ways. Erik was not one to interfere with the outside world in general. But when he did it was almost always due to the offense he took at the simple pleasures in life others had which he thought he never would.

But he was here with her, right now. Yes, it was winter. No… he was not in a state of being to recite love poems to her. But… he was here near the temple of love with his wife. She wondered if he could even look at this outing this way… and wondered if he hoped for the future they might have or dreaded it because it was a future without Christine.

This thought instantly depressed her, and she tried to find the kind of playful enthusiasm he was showing in order to dispel the gloom.

"You are a man, Erik…" she began uncertainly, although she managed to force a little humor into her voice. "…I do not think the girls who stay fail to marry because they give away their virtue. I think it is because men enjoy at least a _little_ bit of a chase…"

"I wish men were so noble." Erik bit out a bitter chuckle. "I'm sure plenty of them _do_ enjoy the chase… But mostly they only want to … get what they can. Once it is done, they abandon the girl in favor of a more decent wife."

"So … you would not give chase?" she challenges.

Erik stopped halfway up the hill to the temple, turning to look at her with instant curiosity. He seemed a little wary… but the humor had not left his gaze.

"What reason would I have to give chase?" he asked.

"Wouldn't it make the reward all the more… well... rewarding?"

He looked around them slowly as the night darkened even further about them. He seemed to take her question very seriously… considering the answers he could give.

"It would be like finally solving a difficult problem, I suppose." He admitted. "If you can solve a dilemma instantly, then you have no satisfaction in the solving of it. You simply take care of it. But if you needed to work for it… yes. I suppose the reward would be all the greater."

She squeezed his arm and then stepped away from him.

"Well… I know you haven't brought me here for an amorous rendezvous. "She began impishly. "But I can still take you on a chase."

Erik was clearly flummoxed by this offer. She could not tell if he silently stammered in his sudden agitation – the scarf and mask covered him far too well. But his body twitched multiple times as he sought out another answer to give. Ultimately it looked as though he decided on keeping the mischievous gaiety, for his eyes narrowed behind the mask and his body coiled slightly as though preparing to pounce.

"You know that anyone who tries to run from me never escapes." He warned her, his voice nearly a predatory purr.

"Then I shall have to make it a challenge!" she laughed. "Close your eyes."

Sighing, Erik straightened – squaring his shoulders and closing his eyes obediently.

He cracked one eye open a slit almost instantly.

"No!" she scolded, laughing again. She took his wrists and pressed both of his hands over his face. "No peeking! Count to thirty, and then see if you can find and catch me. If you can catch me in five minutes…"

He pulled his hands down just enough to peer at her over his fingers. His eyes were wide not only in amusement; but also amazed curiosity.

"Yes...?" he pressed.

Arabella held her breath, staring into his eyes. She could feel the blood pumping through her veins now… knowing what kind of a creature she was about to invoke in playing this game with Erik. This was all in fun – and she was certain he was fully aware of that. But Erik was merciless when he was on any sort of prowl. It… it excited her.

 _ **Then give him the incentive, you silly girl!**_

"Catch me in five minutes, and you win the game." She blurted out quickly. "Winners always get a prize… and I will let you _pick_ what your prize is!"

"Wait!" he protested as she took a step back and began to turn away. "What if I _lose_?"

He didn't sound at all hesitant. She knew he didn't believe that he _could_ lose.

"Then _I_ pick _my_ prize." She stated, as though this should have been painfully obvious.

"You know I hate to lose…" He warned.

"I'm aware." She promised. "Now… _cover and close your eyes._ I don't trust you not to peek!"

She turned and carefully dashed along the path towards the temple and the grotto.

"One… two…" she could hear Erik obediently begin counting – although a little faster than she had anticipated.

She made her way directly towards the grotto, taking the curving steep path that led down below the temple. Erik had not been exaggerating. The Temple of Love was built directly on top of the grotto – and the grotto sat only inches above and beside Lac Daumesnil. They'd already used a bridge in order to reach the Isle de Reuilly. Without turning back and passing him to reach the bridge once more, she had limited options of where to run and hide. It would be far too easy for Erik to find and catch her if she remained in the grotto… but she had no intentions of staying put.

Besides… she wanted Erik to win. She was avidly curious what he would demand for a prize.

"I'm coming for you!" she hears him call, before she has even managed to disappear down the hill from where she knows he was standing when she started to run.

 _ **I could have told you he was going to cheat.**_ Adnah claimed into her ear, clearly amused. _**That man never plays by anyone's rules but his own.**_

 _It doesn't matter._ She returned silently, letting her feet slip on the downhill path into the darkness of the grotto. She had to hold her hands out and to the side for balance, and would probably need to feel her way through most of the grotto. It was a simple horseshoe-shaped cavern of sorts with large wide arches open to the lake – with railings that had been put up for obvious safety purposes. But the night was still dark. _Erik may be inventive and cunning… but he is not a spontaneous risk taker!_

She took the railing in both hands and hauled herself over it in order to carefully put the balls of her feet down on the ice of the lake.

 _ **Are you out of your mind?**_ Adnah demanded angrily.

No… she wasn't. But she didn't answer the ghostly voice next to her ear. He was nothing but an unwelcome distraction when she needed her full concentration to stay reasonably safe. But nothing was ever gained without risk. Not anything worth having, at least. She wanted Erik to win this game so that she could hear what his demand for a prize would be. She doubted it would be anything that she'd object to – even if it were something like a kiss. But Erik was not the kind of man to demand a kiss.

"Where _are_ you?"

She glanced to her left, momentarily thinking that he'd decided to cut off her escape from the opposite end of the grotto. Then she remembered that Erik could throw his voice. For all she knew, he was already feet behind her to the right. Her head whipped around even as she put her feet more firmly on the surface of Lac de Daumesnil to find the grotto still entirely empty. At least… it seemed to still be so.

 _ **Get back onto land before you kill yourself – again!**_ Adnah demanded furiously.

That stung… She had never meant to die… even when she'd driven a knife deep into her stomach. Death had never been her ultimate goal. She'd have accepted death, yes…but it had never really been her intent. Glowering in the direction of Adnah's voice, she planted her weight carefully but entirely on the ice and began to back away from the grotto. She searched every available shadow in sight – not letting herself forget how crafty Erik could be. He could come toward her from the mostly dead trees and bushes on either side of the grotto just as easily as from the Temple above or the grotto itself. He probably wouldn't come from the temple – his landing would risk injury and worse given the ice.

Erik would not want a docile woman who played by the rules. She was taking a risk – a very calculated risk.

 _ **Then what was his interest in Christine?**_ Adnah demanded.

 _Go away! No one asked you!_

A shadow moved to her left, and before even registering it might not be Erik, she scuttled backward and to the right. Her foot slipped momentarily, but the ice still felt firm beneath the crystals she'd slid over. A squeal of adrenaline-filled delight – and a little amusing fear – escaped her lips.

"Two minutes!" she called in a sing-song meant to echo his tone of voice. "You have two minutes to catch me, or I win!"

"No, it is three minutes!" he corrected impishly.

This time she was sure the shadow that moved within the grotto was Erik. Her eyes locked onto it, and she stepped even further away. He became clearer the longer she looked at him, as he stepped out of the darker shadows until the dim moonlight caught his frame. She could barely see him, given that he was dressed head to toe in black. Except for his mask, he might as well have been nothing but a shadow – and his hat and scarf hid most of that. Finally he reached for the railing she'd climbed over, and she could see that his gloves were an elegant and pristine white.

"I'm coming to get you, beautiful dancer…" he teased, his voice now much lower so that it was a pleasurably threatening purr. But he made no move to make his way onto the ice. She could tell he was scanning the surface with his eyes – trying to decide what the best course of action was. He did not seem upset by the risk she was taking.

"If you want me… come and get me."

She crouched down, never taking her eyes off of him, and managed to scrape a fine layer of snowy ice crystals from the surface of the lake before tossing them at him. It made a fine sparkling dust in the air between them… like magic.

"You're being a coward!" she taunted.

Erik gripped the railing more tightly with one hand, but the other reached into his coat … just as though he were searching for his Punjab lasso.

With another cry – knowing Erik would _**never**_ hurt her even if he was intending to use a deadly weapon – she spun and tried to make more space between them so that his lasso couldn't reach her. Her eyes were on the ice ahead, seeing thinner and darker patches far up ahead. But there was still a scrim of actual _snow_ where she was. Surely that had to mean-

" _Bella_!" Erik called – all amusement suddenly gone from his voice.

Her foot came down on one patch of pure white ice and she spun back toward him. He was leaning out over the railing with almost all of his body, one leg lifted as though preparing to jump it if he must. She laughed; surprised that she was suddenly so daring and carefree. Usually she was not quite _this_ daring.

There was no sound. She just took half a step back in order to make certain she wouldn't slip and it felt as though nothing at all were there to greet her but a sheath of painful cold. She sucked in a breath and tried to lift her foot, but the shock nearly took her breath away and her coordination left her. The foot still on the ice slipped out from under her and slid forward, allowing her already sinking foot to drop straight down into the water.

It wasn't very deep; but as her leg went through the ice, more and more of it around her nearly evaporated as though it had never existed. Her rear all but slammed onto the edge of the disintegrating ice and the next thing she knew her entire body seemed to be going under. The leg that had slid out from beneath her went through the disintegrating ice and joined the first one in almost ankle deep, half-frozen mud.

" _Bella_!" she heard Erik cry out. But he seemed far away in that moment. The cold water was up to her armpits, and the frigidness squeezed the air from her lungs like a corset that has been done up too tight. Her head fell back so that her hood landed in the water, along with much of her hair, and she flailed wildly for the surface that was still disappearing all around her. She didn't panic… but her arms were simply instinctively searching for a way to escape. She wasn't drowning, even though the water clogged her clothing instantly and made moving feel nearly impossible.

 _"Erik!"_ she squealed – not able to manage much volume due to her lack of breath. She could feel her heart pounding as she tried to yank her boot-clad feet out of the half-frozen mud at the bottom of the lake. She began sucking in desperate breaths of air, looking around her in little more than shock. Her arms and hands went under the water, leaving little more than her face dry.

 _ **Bella – you're facing the shore!**_ Adnah sounded like he was directly beside her again. _**You have to get to the shore!**_

It could not have been long since she'd broken through the ice, but Arabella had instantly lost all track of time. She tried to focus on the grotto and Erik; but the moon was mostly hidden behind a slowly passing cloud in that moment and she could only dimly make out the white of the structure.

"Bella!" Erik cried again. "You're all right! You're all right! Come towards me – I'll get you out but you have to come my way!"

He didn't sound panicked… How was that possible? Arabella tried to keep her thoughts focused, but all she could register was the cold. Still, she could tell roughly where his voice was coming from … and of course he wouldn't rush out to help her. If he fell through as well, they would _both_ be in trouble. She glanced down at the surface of the water – which was only three inches below her nose. She tried to see her body; but it was just too dark.

 _ **Go, Bella!**_

She nodded and tried to take a step – but her feet wouldn't move.

 _Oh my God! I'm trapped!_

 _ **No you are NOT! Just… pull your feet out! One at a time!**_

Taking in another breath, Arabella tried to reach down into the water – which submerged her completely as she tried to find her ankles through the thick coat and layered dress she wore.

" _Bella_! Oh, _Mon Dieu_!"

She began to shiver as she stood up straight again, sucking in air desperately.

"I can't get my feet out!" she managed to scream.

Erik was cursing in nearly every language he knew, and _now_ she could see him. He had vaulted himself over the railing to land on the ice closest to shore, and was busily doing something with the cast iron of the bannister. It looked like he was tying a rope… but Erik had no rope. She tried to step forward again, and almost lost her boot.

"Bella – you have to get out of the water!" he bellowed – sounding more worried now. Not quite frantic… but definitely deeply concerned. " _Now_!"

"I can't _move_!" she insisted shrilly – the cold having overcome her common sense and ability for linear, logical thinking completely. "My _feet_ \- my _boots_ -"

"- _Damn_ your boots!" Erik insisted. " _Rip your feet out of them and come towards me_ – _**now**_!"

It was the voice of the Phantom – a voice absolutely no one would dare ignore. It reached her almost like a concussive force, and she instantly jerked one foot then the other up out of the mud with all her strength. Unfortunately, only one boot came up out of the half-frozen mud. The other nearly tore her stocking off as it resisted her efforts to escape. She felt her body lurch forward, and again she tumbled completely underwater. Her clothing was getting heavier with every moment – just like her limbs. When she managed to struggle back to her feet – instinctively grimacing at the feel of the only partially giving mud under one stockinged sole – she began breathing even more heavily. Her lungs didn't want to cooperate. Everything was so cold that it burned as she tried to plow her way towards slush and ice towards the grotto.

 _I can't breathe!_

 _ **Yes, you can! It's all right! Look at Erik! LOOK AT HIM!**_

She forced her eyes open and tried to look through the water that dripped from her hair and blurred her vision. The shivering was getting worse, making her coordination more difficult. Each tiny breath she managed to take was coming out almost like the scream of a petrified mouse.

Erik had finished tying whatever he'd had around the railing meant to keep people inside the grotto. Now he was throwing clothing back into the artificial structure, leaving himself in nothing but whatever clothing he might have worn in the flat. He'd discarded his hat, his scarf, his mask, his coat, and even his vest and one glove. She didn't know why he'd only gotten rid of one glove until he leaned out over the ice holding whatever he'd tied to the railing in one fist. He was straining towards her with all of his weight, stretching his free hand out towards her.

"Come!" he commanded again. She was just close enough now to see the growing fear in his eyes, and it made her own heart and breathing pick up pace.

She was finally to more somewhat sturdier ice, but that meant she couldn't continue walking. The surface of the lake was just at waist level, and she thought it would be at least reasonably easy to climb to safety in spite of her shivering. But when she leaned forward with her hands outstretched and pulling at the ice, kicking up with both feet from the ground, the entire slab within a foot of her simply gave way – letting her fall all at once into the water again. This time she went to scream in frustration and fear and found herself choking on the water.

 _ **Bella, no!**_

"Arabella!"

She wasn't sure how loud Erik must have screamed for her to hear him under the water, but she did. She rolled her body and forced herself upward – but each movement was completely uncoordinated and panicked. If she hadn't resurfaced exactly where she'd gone down, she likely would have drowned under the ice even though she'd just discovered how weak it was. She couldn't quite float, but she tried to; continuing to choke on the water that had invaded her lungs.

"Bella!" Erik screamed again, his voice even louder – but not just because she was at surface level. She blinked blearily as she finally got back the ability to breathe, and stared up at the cloud broken sky. "Bella, look at me!"

She let out a tearless sob as she slowly tried to get her feet back under her. Her teeth were chattering, she shivered so hard, and she tasted blood. She wondered vaguely if she'd bit her tongue and was just so cold that she couldn't feel it. She forced her body to make a slow turn until she could see the grotto and Erik crouched on the ice with his body straining in her direction.

" _Av akai, mira kom_!" He pleaded in Romani, startling her briefly. He didn't even seem aware that he'd started spouting endearments – or another language. In another moment he'd switched over to Spanish. "Just a little closer!"

Still giving big wet sobs without tears – none that she could feel, at least – Arabella staggered in his direction with her dripping arms once again over the water as though struggling to keep her balance. The ground under the water wasn't exactly even… but at least she could no longer feel the rocks on her one foot without the boot. When she made it to seemingly solid ice again, she pounded on it with her arms and fists, trying to find any point of weakness.

There didn't seem to be any.

"Good girl!" Erik encouraged, allowing his hand to slip on whatever it was he was holding. His other hand reached for something on the ground. "Can you lie on it? See if you can get your body as much out of the water as possible, _mira kom_!"

She tried to push herself up again, but the ice threatened to give and she instantly released the shelf in fear of going under once more.

She was getting dizzy… spots were dancing in front of her eyes.

 _ **Calm down, Arabella.**_ Adnah soothed in her right ear, apparently reading her fear as she swayed. _**Take in a few deep breaths. You're almost there. Erik can get you out… but you can't let him get wet. If he gets wet, you will**_ **both** _ **possibly die!**_

 _Why do you care?_ She demanded, bowing her head and starting to turn as though to make her way along the shelf of ice.

"Where are you going?" Erik demanded. " _Bella_! _Look at me_!"

She stopped abruptly and turned her head lethargically in his direction. He was a little closer – at the end of whatever tether he'd tied behind him. In his free hand – held out towards her once again – dangled a long and thin piece of …

The Punjab lasso! Erik had a habit of carrying every possible weapon with him. She thought she could remember him taking at least two knives, a boot knife, two lassos, and his sword cane with him when they left the house. He did not leave anything to chance whenever possible…

"Hold your arm over your head!" he instructed her. "Like this – like there is something falling onto you!"

He demonstrated briefly before swinging the as yet unused lasso lightly from his hand again.

Arabella squinted at him in confusion. She just wanted to get onto the ice and lie down… why did he need her to play pantomime?  
 _ **He's going to use the lasso to get you!**_ Adnah was speaking much more than that now – letting loose a string of both encouragement and debasement to try and keep her mind in the present moment. It wasn't working particularly well – but he managed that much. Unfortunately the idea of Erik using the Punjab Lasso on her wasn't encouraging – especially as she grew more tired and confused.

"Bella – _**NOW**_!"

It was the commanding voice of the Phantom once again, and she obeyed without even meaning to. She ducked her head, clutching her arm as tightly as she could over the entire top of her head. Her other arm came up to try and protect her face – and a moment later she felt the loop of cat gut catch her almost at neck level – tightening just above the armpits so that her arms were restrained against either side of her head. She gasped as Erik jerked hard and she tumbled forward onto the nearest shelf of ice. It wasn't quite enough to get her out of the water, and she barely managed to scream in panic and pain as the rope bit into her skin through her wet clothing.

"Help me!" Erik ordered. "Kick your feet, Arabella! Kick them as hard as you can!"

She tried… she really did. But her skirts hampered her efforts, and she only barely managed any results with her one bootless foot. It seemed to be enough though, as her body moved almost parallel to the ice and Erik jerked again – even harder this time – on his lasso. Again she screamed in pain, feeling as the rope lost partial hold on her and slid up towards her elbows. Much further and the lasso would lose her entirely because they'd simply slide off the curves of her bent elbows.

"Grab the lasso!"

Arabela sucked in a deep breath, and let her head fall helplessly onto the ice. Her feet still dangled in the water, but at least she was now free all the way down to her knees.

 _I just need… a minute…_

 _ **You don't HAVE a minute! Take the damned rope, Bella!**_

 _Leave me alone!_

 _ **I'll go away and not even come haunting you for a**_ **week** _ **if you just GRAB THE LASSO!**_

Grunting, Arabella let her arms fall limp. Erik was tugging at the lasso again, and this time it tightened so hard that it slid right down to her wrists and virtually tied them together before catching on the underside of her hands where they joined to her arms. There was no pain this time. She was too tired… too cold… too weak. But when she felt the tops of her feet hit ice, she managed to bend her legs and tried to push further towards Erik with her heels.

"Stay with me!" Erik pleaded. " _Mira kom_!"

" _Miri_ …" she tried to mumble in return. But she could barely even lift her chin. Sighing, she felt all of her muscles give out. She didn't think she was shivering quite so badly anymore… That was good…

There was a scraping sound somewhere above her head, and she managed to force her eyes open and roll them towards her outstretched and aching hands. Erik was making his very careful way closer to her, reaching out and trying to grab between her wrists where the rope gripped her. Unfortunately, he didn't seem to trust the ice enough to get quite that close.

"Can you grab it with your fingers?" he asked, panting for breath. She could see that he was shivering – his breath coming out in great puffs of white air. "Bella … just a little more… _please_. Take the rope in your hands and hold on _tight, mira kom_."

Whimpering, she tried to listen; but she couldn't even feel the rope. Her fingers closed around it rather limply, and nodding Erik gripped his end of it with both hands and tugged hard. His heels dug into the ice closer to her body – although they still slipped a little – and he leaned back as far as he could in order to get her in close. In another moment she was close enough for him to reach, and he swiftly removed the rope from her wrists only to find they were raw and almost to the point of bleeding. The hand that hadn't been protected by a soaking wet glove was worse off than the other; but since the rope had caught underneath the glove she did wear, it wasn't worse off by much.

"Come…" Erik was panting for breath, cold and exhausted and clearly afraid. But he still put his lasso away in one trouser pocket before pulling her by the forearms and scuttling himself backward until they were up against the edge of the grotto where the ice was sturdy. "Bella… we have to get these off of you."

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 **A/N: Just as a reminder:**

 **Mira/Miri Kom: "My Love" The 'a" is from the feminine and the "I" is from the masculine.**

 **Thank you SO MUCH for all the on-going love! E.M.K.81 – you are AWESOME! I've had so much fun doing this and I cannot wait to eep it going!**


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N: I would like to say that I may be changing the title of this story. I do not know how you recieve that particular notification, so if things change, just look for the same summary if things get kooky. Most likely, I will be calling it "Mira Kom" Or maybe not... I haven't decided. "Second Chances" works very well but it feels off.**

 **Thank you to my readers, and as always to E.M.K.81 for all the support.**

 **(replaced with same chapter to fix an imperative typo. Thank you Child of Dreams for pointing it out to me. Typos are one thing - the wrong message is another!)**

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He had not liked seeing Arabella out on that ice.

At first he'd been just slightly confused – trying as he was to trick her into running directly into him when he began throwing his voice. When she never emerged from the grotto, he'd gone in careful and silent pursuit of her. He'd never expected her to take such a risk… which had only gone to show how high-stakes she thought this game was.

He'd wondered what could be so important that she'd risk her own life just to win a silly game of cat and mouse. But then he'd seen her go through; and all thoughts of play had fled from his mind. He had not instantly panicked; for he'd seen she was in shallow waters and could touch the ground. He'd instantly understood that he needed to remain calm and in control, so he could help her through the undoubtedly instant shock and talk her back to shore without risking his own life as well as hers. If he could have guaranteed her life, he'd have risked his own… but knowing that his risk also continued to risk her… no … he couldn't just run out after her.

Considering there had been no instant panic, but only heightened concern, he'd managed to remain calm enough to remove his outer garments so she would have something warm and dry to wrap herself in when she came out of the freezing water. He'd removed his mask as well for better visibility, and carefully climbed over the railing and anchored himself to the grotto with one of his lassos. The longer she stood in that water without seeming to move at all closer made his heart squeeze painfully in his chest and refuse to relax, though. The intense concern formed a ball of dread to lodge in his throat.

Arabella hadn't been in the water for very long; but her clothes were heavy, and she'd kept falling through the ice and submerging herself during her escape attempts. Each breath she took shuddered violently in and out of her panting lungs, and he feared if she continued to hyperventilate that she would faint and he would be forced into the frigid water with her. The worst moment was when she'd gone down with her entire body all at once for the first time, and came up choking and sputtering. She'd been _breathing,_ though… so he'd forced himself to remain still and wait a little longer. As long as she was breathing - even if she was sputtering desperately - he knew she was not going to drown.

He hadn't known when he slipped into Romani or Spanish. He'd been completely oblivious to the endearment that suddenly came pouring from his lips as she became clearly exhausted and a little confused. She'd started to wander away from him as though thinking the Temple and grotto were off to one side. It had been a true relief when he finally saw that the ice was holding her feebly struggling body again. By that point he'd worked his way a short distance out onto the ice and was waiting for an opportunity to pull her free. It was almost to the point when he feared she had been too long in the water. She was clearly exhausted trying to move in all those soaking wet winter garments.

He had thought he was going to lose her for a moment - when the lasso he'd tossed tore free of her arms and slipped down towards her hands so fast and hard that the noose bit visibly into the flesh of her one bare hand. Thank God she had such bony wrists; and that her remaining glove had a cuff that kept the lasso further locked into place. Her hands certainly weren't much good to her by then, even though she'd clearly tried to listen and wrap her fingers around the rope so he could pull her closer. He'd known she didn't have a solid grip, but given up with yelling commands when he saw her almost injure her face when her head fell to the ice in sheer exhaustion.

He leaned back against the railing of the grotto for a few precious seconds, panting for breath and cursing the muscle spasms and pain in his lower back and shoulders. He hadn't needed to do such hard labor for this long in quite some time. He was out of shape… and the fact that his teeth were chattering with cold and his fingers were going numb had not helped his efforts. It was a relief to have Arabella lying so close to him. For only a second or two, he gathered himself mentally and emotionally so that the panic that had turned into a coppery and steely sickness in his stomach during the rescue settled down. Around him the world was almost completely silent.

"Bella..." he panted, reaching down to place a hand on her back. He was feeling for the rise and fall of her ribs as she breathed. "Look at me, _ma belle_ …"

She hadn't stirred since he'd pulled her to safety, and he prayed that it was not already too late to save her. When she felt his touch, Arabella rolled her head to one side ever-so-slightly. Her lashes lifted slightly, and she managed to look at him with dull curiosity. Her lips were a faint bluish color as they tried to pull into the most pathetic smile he'd ever seen.

"Who… won…?" she asked in a breathy whisper.

"You, _ma belle_." He promised, thinking this was what she wanted to hear and knowing that it was technically the truth. "Now hold on."

She was more or less lucid. That was good. It made him feel just a little calmer – and saner. But it was clear she didn't have the strength left to hold onto him the way he needed her to. Groaning, he slowly and laboriously rose to his feet using the grotto railings for support. It wrenched nearly every one of the shivering muscles of his body… but he managed. It took far more effort to put her down gently on the inside of the grotto without dropping her than it had to stand with her in his arms.

She was so still… She didn't curl up on the ground and huddle into herself for warmth. She just lay on her side as he'd placed her, her eyes open only ever-so-slightly as he vaulted over the railing and back into the grotto. He crouched over her, hands hovering up and down her body in indecision. He knew that he had to get her warm; but in a moment of panic he couldn't decide where to start.

The clothes… the wet clothes… he needed to get those off of her.

"Bella?" he touched her shoulder, almost flinching at the coldness of her heavy cloak in spite of already having held her up in his arms. "I'm taking some of your clothes off; all right?"

She moaned quietly, her eyelashes flickering. But she gave no other response. Cursing, Erik began fumbling with the tie of her heavy cloak. But her struggles and the expansion from absorbing all that water made the knot into one great mass of fabric. He couldn't get it undone, and imagined that most of her clothes would be in the same state. He was freezing and shivering, but he could still feel the heat of embarrassment flush his face as he pulled out one of his knives (had always carried at least two) and began to slice away the laces of her cloak and her surviving boot. He then peeled off her stockings, blushing even hotter in spite of the situation. He had never seen a woman's ankle so clearly or so closely before. Even when she had been dying in his arms… he had not looked too closely at any part of her anatomy. He hadn't dared.

"What do you want for your prize _, ma belle_?" he asked distractedly; trying to get Arabella's attention as he began rubbing vigorously at her dangerously pale feet. He knew he had to get her undressed; but in spite of the severity of the situation he needed to steel himself for what was going to be seen and touched. Part of him was mortified by what was happening more due to upcoming nudity than anything else.

Arabella made a very quiet sound at the question, but didn't look at him again.

"Bella!" he pleaded, realizing he'd lost time somehow. He seized up his coat and draped it over her before snatching up his scarf and tying it around her head to try and protect her already wet scalp from the bitter wind. "Look at me!"

She tried… He could tell that she did. But she was too weak.

"Damn it, Bella!" he breathed, snatching up the rest of his clothes and wrapping them around her hands. When he took a moment to replace his mask over his hideous face and she still hadn't replied, he nearly exploded with desperation. " _Talk_ to me!"

He was trying to stand and lift her into his arms when Arabella managed to respond. Her voice was small, and slurred, but it was there.

"…'bout wha?"

"Anything." He encouraged instantly, groaning as his back protested lifting something even as light as Arabella. "Ask me questions, tell me stories; just talk to me."

"…you mean it?"

He didn't understand, but began rushing a little clumsily towards the hilly path leading up towards the Temple of Love and the main promenade that would lead out of the park.

"Yes, ask me anything, tell me anything." He promised, hoping that he hadn't missed something.

" _Miri kom_ …"

"I'm here, _ma belle_."

"You said… _**mira**_ … _kom_."

Erik squinted in confusion, still not entirely certain that he understood her. His eyes were constantly scanning the area, looking for help but also watching carefully for any possible attack. He _always_ watched warily for attack. Now would be the worst possible moment – which made it quite naturally the most likely. So his eyes were peeled, even as he struggled to keep a still mostly dressed and soaking wet Arabella from falling out of his shivering arms.

"Did I ever tell you anything about my youth?" he asked, hoping to God he was distracting her and keeping her awake. "I used to sneak out of my bedroom at night. It went on for years without my mother or Father Mansart ever finding out! But then those villagers…"

He mentally shook himself, not wanting to be dragged down that line of thought. He glanced down briefly to see that the scarf was coming loose from Arabella's hair. More importantly, however, her eyes were cracked open and she was looking at him dazedly.

"In the summer time, I used to sneak out to this one place where a vixen lived in a little den. I would sit very quietly and just watch her with her kits. She was a wonderful mother… sometimes I wished that _she_ were my mother instead of _Maman_."

This was, of course, just a ludicrous thought… one of those things children who feel alone and unloved think about. How tragic that he thought a wild animal would have been a better, more loving mother than the woman who'd given him birth. It had taken decades for him to realize that Madeleine had done the best she could.

"Have you ever seen something like that?" he demanded of Arabella, looking down at her again to see her eyes were closed again. " _Bella_?"

She was so pale. Erik began to shiver all the harder – not just from running through a winter night with damp clothes unsuited for such weather. He was terrified. From the moment Arabella's foot had slipped through the ice, he had been feeling panic building in his heart. He'd managed to keep it under control – knowing she would have time to get out of the water and walk away with relatively little damage taken to her health. But it had taken too long for her to get out. The water had been too deep and she'd gone completely under too many times. Now she was not even shivering – either that or his own shivering was so severe that he couldn't feel hers.

"Bella, you wake up and answer me!" he demanded almost shrilly, finally glancing around desperately to find a place of safety and warmth to bring her.

There were no cafes open in the park – and although they may have stoves and even brandy and sugar with which to warm her, he thought it would be an enormous risk. Cafes were small. If there was even a single officer patrolling this park at night, it would not be hard for him to see that a café had been broken into. The last thing he needed was the trouble of a police officer coming upon him with what would soon be a half dressed and half-conscious woman! No doubt he'd immediately be suspected of villainy because of his mask!

Arabella made another soft sound, her eyes cracking open a moment before closing again almost at once. If Erik hadn't looked down at just the right moment, he'd have thought she wasn't responsive at all.

" _Mon Dieu_ …" he breathed, forcing his body into an all-out run when he saw the gates leading out into Paris. Arabella needed help – _now_.

The thought of someone so young and beautiful, kind and wonderful, dying… _**again**_ … He didn't think his heart could handle such grief again! He had _finally_ realized that he still loved her just about as fiercely as over thirty years previous. He'd only _just_ finally promised himself that his love of Christine would not stand in his way anymore. The idea of being alone again - after over a month of having her in his once dark and morose home - was gut-wrenching. Worse still was the idea of losing _Arabella_.

He needed help. He was _never_ going to get her to safety on his own. In spite of his absolute aversion to seeking people out in any respect… he had no choice but to let go of his normal paranoia.

"Somebody help me!" He shouted, startled and bitterly disdainful of the strange wetness of his voice. He didn't know if he'd started crying without realizing it or if the very simple wet cold he'd already suffered so briefly was already affecting him. But his throat was clogged with threatening mucus.

He could see carriages and wagons going by. He could see the occasional person – mostly men – passing along on the sidewalk. But no one paid any mind to his shout. He no longer had the energy for a healthy Phantom bellow. He was out of breath, his muscles were aching, and his desperate dash was slowing with each step. In his slowly drooping arms, Arabella was utterly quiet. She barely even reacted enough to his shout for it to be considered a flinch. Her body just sort of … twitched slightly.

"My wife needs help!" he tried again, finally making it to the gates and looking around. There were not many people walking – although he saw a few here and there along the long street at a relative distance to where he stood. The only two conveyances that had passed while he approached were near corners or rounding them – so out of range for assistance. His eyes desperately scanned the street and the facades of the buildings across the road. He tried to discern if any of those places were open, or whether or not he could take her there even if they were. Some places would simply be out of the question. He couldn't possibly – for instance – carry her into a tavern full of drunken men who could be volatile.

But what if he had no choice? What if it was the only place with any kind of warmth in sight?

He wasn't delirious or confused… but his fatigue, cold, and fear were beginning to affect his logical thinking. His person was in no immediate danger, but the mixture of all these things made a sour stew in his body and mind. He began stumbling across the street, almost failing to notice that a carriage was thundering down the street in his direction.

"Out of the way!" the coachman bellowed, making Erik start and clutch Arabella to him more tightly. For a split second he froze up, and then leaped out of the way even as the carriage swerved to avoid running him down. He wanted to hold out a hand imploringly, but his arms were too full of barely living woman to do so. Instead he held _her_ up, almost like an offering. The conveyance was already blurring past him, but in his mild confusion and extreme desperation, he didn't care.

"Help me!" he pleaded.

No one heard him. Or, if they did, they didn't care.

It was like carrying her into that Spanish town all over again… only so much worse. It wasn't terribly late. There was still enough hustle and bustle in the city for there to be someone around that might help a woman in distress. But no one so much as noticed him – even wearing his mask. He was garnering no attention whatsoever. His heart thundered in his chest, making the blood pumping through his head seem to sing like wasps between his ears.

He looked back down at Arabella, who's head had fallen completely limp against is shoulder.

"I've got you, _mira kom_." He breathed; completely aware of the endearment he used this time. "I'm going to take care of you. All right?"

She stirred vaguely, but that was all. He tried to stand still a moment and see if she was shivering; but he still couldn't differentiate between his own body's near-convulsions or her own trembling. Was she shaking because he was? Or was she shivering?

Taking in a deep breath, he adjusted his hold on her and as carefully as possibly placed her over one shoulder like a sack of grain. He didn't want to do this – it felt so impersonal and uncaring – but he needed a hand free. At least this way he could hold her up on him with just one arm and use the other one. Another conveyance was coming his way – this one clearly a cab of some sort. It did not have his preferred shuttered windows – but at this point anything to get Bella out of the cold would suffice. He planted his feet and held up one hand in what he prayed was a commanding gesture.

"Stop!" he demanded. "Stop! We need your help!"

The coachman did not barrel past this time. He slowed considerably, making the carriage jounce uncomfortably and his horses rear a little.

"I've already got passengers!" He bit out angrily. "Are you crazy walking in front of a-"

His words broke off as he tried to sidle the carriage around Erik and finally realized the man was masked – and that he had a girl over one shoulder that looked almost dead.

"-Hey! What you doing to that girl?" he demanded, pulling the carriage up short abruptly and starting to climb down from his perch.

"What's going on?" a reedy voice demanded from inside the carriage. "Driver! I'm already late!"

Erik didn't care about inconveniencing a passenger. He didn't even care about the threatening way the driver came down to street level. Instantly he shifted Arabella so that she was in his arms again, being carried like a sleeping princess.

"My wife fell through some ice in the park." He explained hurriedly. "She's freezing to death! Please! Let us ride in your carriage! I need to get her somewhere warm! Do you know of any place?"

The driver looked suspicious; his hand twitching around the whip he likely used far too much on his animals. But he didn't raise it against Erik. Perhaps he was worried about hurting Arabella, who was terribly white under the scarce moonlight.

"I already have a full carriage." He told Erik, looking a little perturbed.

"Please…" Erik begged, not caring about the humiliating whine that now entered his voice. "I'm freezing… and I'm barely even damp just from carrying her. Help us. I can't… she can't… _please_ …"

"Erik?" Arabella seemed stirred by his begging. Maybe she was alarmed by the sound of it. She always had been the type of woman to fight for the people she loved rather than herself. It didn't surprise him much that his distress was what had stirred her, when her own predicament barely caused an eyelash to flutter.

"I'm here, _ma belle_ …" he promised quickly. "Driver, I will give you nearly everything on my person. _Please_."

The driver seemed to think this through - but not for long. He could see how the woman in the masked mans' arms was far paler than she ought to have been. He could see the water on her lashes was freeing over and her lips were more than tinged blue. He turned and ripped open the nearest door to his carriage.

"All right, all right, get in… Make room!" he commanded. "You there, make room!"

"I am _not_ going to-"that reedy voice began in fury. Erik realized in distracted astonishment that this was the voice of a _man_.

Growling in frustration, Erik shouldered by the coachman and began to step up into the carriage with Arabella. He saw in the deep shadows that three people were sitting within. One was an elderly gentleman. The other two were one elderly lady and a woman homely enough to instantly be identified as their spinster daughter. Erik didn't care; he just took in the details.

"I am not letting my wife die because a few pampered _asses_ want to get to a party!" he snapped at them. "Driver – _go_! Wherever I can get her warm! An inn or hotel… a café… _anything_!"

"How dare you use such language in front of-" the reedy-voiced gentleman began, his voice going alarmingly high in his anger at the inconvenience.

The driver had climbed back up to his perch and the carriage erupted into motion. It interrupted the gentleman's demand as Erik and his fellow unwilling passengers were nearly thrown out of their seats, arms flailing in every direction. Erik was the only one not to do this; allowing himself to slip from the seat onto his knees. The women and gentleman reared away as though he were a swarm of rats trying to climb up their legs. He could see flashes of elderly and middle-aged ankles clothed in dark stockings, and paid them absolutely no mind. His hands were busy trying to untangle Arabella from his by then soggy coat and then working at the laces of her dress.

" _Monsieur_!" the younger woman of the two shrieked. "What are you-"

"-What needs to be done!" he interrupted in an irascible growl. Any other time he'd be furious with these people. They were clearly from the higher echelons of society – and he absolutely _despised_ aristocrats. Their umbrage and disgust over a dying woman interrupting their night journey made him feel nearly murderous – but he needed to concentrate on Bella.

The other passenger subsided, most of them looking out the nearest possible windows in order to distract themselves from the woman slowly becoming more and more undressed at their feet. Erik didn't look up at them. They had created a fair amount of warmth in the enclosed carriage with their combined body heat, and he was certain that this was already helping him and Arabella to warm up slightly. It probably wouldn't be anything near enough to save Arabella's life – but it was a start.

"I can't believe this…" the elder woman hissed over his head as he began peeling Arabella's blouse from her and then quickly wrapped her up in his coat again. This time he had turned the coat inside out, so the moisture the inside had collected from her body and clothes was no longer touching her. "This is _ludicrous_!"

"Bella!" he pleaded. "Open your eyes! Talk to me! _Look_ at me!"

She moaned quietly, rolling her head slightly and cracking first one then both eyes open. She looked vastly confused.

How had the cold affected her quite so deeply, and so fast? Erik didn't understand. She wasn't exactly a scrawny girl who couldn't hold onto body heat. She had a real figure, and had a little meat on her bones to keep her somewhat warm. Why was she so quiet and still? How had her fight back to solid ice sapped her of so much strength and energy?

"What kind of monster _are_ you?" the older woman continued as Arabella's eyes tried to focus on Erik's face. "What have you _done_ to the poor woman?"

Erik lifted his gaze sharply to the woman, gritting his teeth. As if a monster would put himself squarely in a circle of enemies while planning villainy!

"One more word…" he warned in a hard voice. "…and I will rip out your tongue. I don't have time to entertain the ignorant and inane curiosities of an old set of bitches."

"How dare you!" the older gentleman demanded over his wife and daughters' gasps of horror. He leaned forward in his seat, one hand gripping the head of his elegant cane – which until that moment had been tucked up the length of his leg closest to the carriage door. "I demand you-"

Growling again, Erik reached up and jerked the cane out of the old mans' hand with immense ease. He swung it around once over his head, not aiming to harm anyone but not being careful, either. Then he slammed it down so close to Arabella's side that he nearly hit her.

"Try that again and your body will be on the street!" he spat furiously. "I have _no_ _ **time**_ for this! _Look_ at her! She's _dying_!"

The man instantly subsided, his rage obviously withered down to absolutely nothing due to the clear upper hand Erik had over him even while huddled on the carriage floor. Erik glared another moment at the man with narrowed eyes; waiting to be sure the old bastard would remain meek and inoffensive for the rest of the trip.

"Er…" Arabella tried to whisper, one hand shifting in his direction without actually lifting onto her stomach where he'd left it last.

Erik leaned down, pressing an impulsive kiss to her icy forehead. With Christine he'd have been mortified at the thought of trying such a thing. He'd have considered it to be taking advantage of her. But with Arabella it was nothing but an impulsive and desperate need to reassure her.

"I'm here…" he soothed, his voice instantly changing from cold and furious to warm and full of affection. "Bella… how do you feel?"

"Tired…"

He barked out a startled laugh.

"I imagine you would." He agreed, before reaching down under his coat so that he could rub his hands up and down her arms vigorously. After that he slid his hands down the sides of her body to her thighs, although he was rubbing her skin there through the underwear he simply didn't have the courage to remove. He knew removing every ounce of her wet clothing would be best… but he just didn't _dare_. "Can you feel this?"

"Yes…" she admitted - her voice briefly a little stronger. Her eyes were beginning to wander the enclosed space. He could feel the first sudden spasms of her leg muscles under his hands as his hands moved from her upper legs and down to her calves. Now he could easily have looked down and seen what he was touching but…

"Good." He grunted. "We're getting you somewhere warm. I'll take care of you, _mira kom_ …"

He was trying to decide what to do next when the younger of the two women riding with him tried to stand slightly.

"Mary – what are you doing?" the older man demanded. He didn't sound angry now – but he did seem slightly alarmed. Erik himself leaned over Arabella protectively, not looking up at the woman in case she decided to kick at them. That or she might fall when the carriage took another of its violent jolts.

There was a moment of quiet before something warm touched his arm. He glanced to the side and saw that a fine fur coat was dangling near where he could take it. Slowly he lifted his eyes and stared up at the woman as she tried to lower herself back into her seat even further out of his way. Her face was nearly a mask all its own; making it utterly unclear what her intentions or emotions were. He'd seen similar neutrality on many faces in Paris.

"For your Lady, Monsieur…" she murmured in explanation. "Your coat is soaked through… It's seeping right into my stockings."

"Mary!" the woman scolded, apparently scandalized at the mention of women's clothing.

"Hush, mother." The woman scolded – although she wasn't harsh about it.

"Th-thank you." Erik managed, astonished at this women's' strangely cold kindness. He stripped Arabella of his wet coat and glanced down at her to see that her entire body was now trembling violently. For just a moment he took in her wet underthings, seeing how they'd become virtually transparent. But before he could think too long or hard about that fact, he laid the fur gently over her before tucking it carefully around her body. Then he lifted Arabella again, pulling her into his lap as he sat on the carriage floor. His eyes returned to the middle-aged spinster woman. "I can pay you for the coat. I … I have nothing for her to wear…"

"No need." She said, sniffing and glancing out her window as though disgusted at the idea of getting her coat back now that he – or Arabella – had touched it. "I have others."

Now with a nice and body-warmed fur coat between them, Erik held Arabella tight against his chest. His own body was shivering still, and the coat felt good even through his dampened clothing.

A minute passed during which everyone tried not to be tossed about as the driver continued rushing through the streets.

"You…" Arabella cleared her throat, adjusting herself slightly even though she was shivering so violently it was amazing she didn't shake herself off of Erik's lap. Apparently the fur coat was doing wonders for her body heat. Erik could tell that this shivering was probably a good thing, because she was slowly reviving as it happened. It was still frightening, though, feeling her body tremble so hard. "…You called me ' _mira kom'_."

"Yes I did, _ma belle_." He agreed, managing a little smile, brushing his mouth over her wet and cold hair.

"I'm so cold."

"I know, _mira kom_ …" he choked out, wishing he could simply snap his fingers and make her warm like a true magician should have _been able_ to do. It was one of the reasons he kept repeating the endearment now; as it seemed the only way to made her comfortable or happy in any sense of the word. Perhaps it would prove unfair later… but… at least in this moment he could think of nothing more honest to call her. Even his more traditional nickname felt ill-suited for her.

The carriage came to a stop before either of them could speak again, and a moment later the coachman pulled a door open.

"Here, _Monsieur_." He told Erik insistently, motioning for him to hurry. Erik slid his body towards the door, leaving feet first then rising to a standing position as the driver rushed away from the cab and towards a severe brick building that seemed fairly well lit even from the outside. He guessed that it must have been dressed with as yet still rare electric lighting.

He froze momentarily when he saw that he'd been brought to a police station.

 _Oh Mon Dieu…_


	19. Chapter 19

Arabella tried to ignore the shivers wracking her body. She was focusing as hard as she could only on the fact that Erik was holding her, and that he had called her 'my love'. It was so much easier to think about than how she'd completely botched their evening and her silly, romantic, and ever-so-slightly alluring game. Her muscles ached terribly as they trembled from the cold; but she was bolstered by his affectionate words… and hope that she was usually so cautious about flared in her.

They were suddenly enveloped by air just warm enough for it to make a severely distinct difference between the outside and whatever building Erik had carried her into. She opened her eyes and looked about dazedly, expecting perhaps they were in the Opera through a back secret door… or maybe a hotel if Erik had been in too much of a rush to get her warm. She honestly wasn't completely aware of just how much danger her life had so recently been in. She just knew that she was cold, that it was dark out, and that something had wakened Erik's old affection for her enough so that he had called her something absolutely beautiful.

There was a desk near the door; but towards the back of the strangely lit room sat a group of men in dark uniforms. They were at a table playing cards and drinking tea. At least… she assumed it was tea. She felt Erik go tense with his arms under her, as he stood in the door and stared at the group of professionally attired men as two of them stood up to see what was happening.

"What do you need?" one of the standing men demanded, his eyes locked onto Erik's masked face. The other man was paying more attention to Arabella. Even in her state, she felt his eyes boring into her curiously.

"This is not a hospital." The man looking at Arabella stated quickly. "You should move on to-"

"-She is _freezing_!" Erik interrupted, taking a step forward. Arabella wound her arms up around his shoulders, although her arms were weak and stiff. It had been difficult removing them from the articles of clothing Erik had wrapped around them back at the grotto. She could feel the hesitation in his actions as she realized that the men in dark uniforms were police officers. She, herself, did not care for the police, although she couldn't quite remember why. Whatever caused her personal dislike, though, it could be nothing to Erik's aversion. What had driven him into facing men in a place where he could be imprisoned? "Please, messieurs! The hospital is too far! Let me get her warm!"

Erik was not doing so well, himself. Arabella was able to feel how his body shivered. She could hear it in the quavering of his voice and the chattering of his teeth.

"Come in." the man that had been looking more closely at Erik raised a hand and motioned towards them in invitation. "Bring her here to the couch. Jacques, find warm blankets. Martin, fire up the stove again. We'll bring the couch closer to it."

The men still sitting around their little card table rose instantly and began working cooperatively to get it out of the way, even as Erik carried Arabella in a rush towards the stove. Arabella looked slowly between the faces of each man; uncomfortably aware that they were all staring at Erik's mask. Still, as the couch – a ratty old piece of furniture that had seen much better and much worse than her soaking body – was dragged nearer the warmth of the stove, one of the officers carried a half-filled cup of tea over to the stove and lifted a kettle from it to pour fresh hot tea before offering it in her direction.

As Erik placed her on the couch, her hands slid down his body briefly and it drew attention to how soggy _he_ was.

"You are… you're freezing, too!" she exclaimed. At least, she would have, if her voice hadn't come out such a weak slur. She licked anxiously at her painfully chapped lips. "I don't remember… you didn't fall in, too, did you?"

"Shh." Erik sat on the extreme edge of the couch, completely stiff and trying to ignore the men staring at him. He took the offered tea from the one officer and reached down to lift her head gently towards its' steaming rim. "Drink this… It will make you feel better."

His voice sounded off, she realized, her eyes widening slightly. She looked up at him over the blissfully warm cup of tea. As he gently tipped some of its contents into her mouth, she tasted that the added hot liquid hadn't made the tea scalding. It had only warmed it to a endurable warmth.

"What else does she need?" the officer who had been giving orders asked as Erik gently settled her head back onto the arm of the couch and rose so that the officer who'd been sent to fetch blankets could help him cover her.

"You should take those wet things off of her." The man recommended.

"No." Erik said instantly. "No, keep everything on her."

He glanced at the officer who was clearly in charge of this little group.

"She needs a … a dress…"

The reaction to this is a brief and intensely uncomfortable silence. Erik sats beside her again, reaching out to smooth back her wet hair.

"Go." The commander said simply to the man who'd just brought in the blankets. "Find something for the gentleman as well." Then he returned his attention to Erik.

Even as she reveled in the fresh warmth of the tea and the blankets and the stove, Arabella could tell these men had instantly gone into a cautionary frame of mind. She frowned, trying to understand. But then she remembered the mask… even though it hardly seemed like enough motive for their instant wariness.

"What happened, _Monsieur_?"

"It was an accident." Erik said instantly, obviously having prepared for the question. "We were foolishly playing about in the Bois de Vincennes. She fell through the ice…"

"What on _Earth_ was she doing out on the lake?" one of the – until that very moment – quiet officers demanded.

"He was chasing me…" Arabella whispered, feeling herself blush hotly. "It was just a game - stupid game!"

" _Monsieur_ … may I speak with you over here?" the man in charge asked – although it was clearly more of a command than a polite request. "Here. Have a hot cup of tea. We'll give you a blanket, and you can sit on this side of the stove."

"I did nothing wrong!" Erik defended himself, his voice raising half an octave in distress. "She is my _wife_!"

Arabella thought her heart had stopped in its' chest for a moment. She stared in utter shock at Erik, barely able to control her shock and awe at his words. She had heard them earlier, but not been entirely certain she was not hallucinating.

"It was just a silly game that we should have thought better about playing!"

"I should say so." The commander agreed drolly. "Come, sit. Get yourself warm."

Erik placed a hand briefly on Arabella's shoulder. Her heartbeat thrummed anxiously in her chest as she watched him rise like a man condemned to obey the 'suggestion'. He lowered himself into the offered chair and pulled the offered blanket about his shoulders. This much he did with obvious relief, the cold having clearly gotten to him. But he and Arabella both wearily eye the men that are trying to very casually step in between them as the commander crouches by Erik and begins speaking to him in a low voice not quite soft enough to keep the conversation private.

"What is your name, _Monsieur_?"

"My… Erik. It is Erik… Sauveterre…"

"And where do you live, _Monsieur_?"

"I… we… that is… we are between residences." Erik tried to think up a fast lie, and Arabella had to struggle to pay attention to his every word. He was doing a much better job at keeping his voice low than the officer. That and she was exhausted. She could barely keep her eyes open – even though she was now growing quite comfortably warm. One of the officers was watching her closely, holding the cup of tea Erik had been giving her just in case she asked for it. "We are currently visiting Paris… trying to agree on a place to live. I am … retired… and my wife she…"

Erik shrugs as though he is too exhausted to go into great detail.

"Do you have your identification papers?" the commander asked quietly. Arabella could recognize his neutral tone.

"No. I mean yes. I mean…" Erik lifted a hand as though to rub at his temples, but his mask was in the way. "I _had_ them on me. I took most of my outerwear off to make getting my wife out of the water easier. I knew she would need something warm and dry. But they… they were lost. I was foolish with them by the ice."  
This, of course, is a lie. Erik did not carry his papers with him. Arabella didn't even know for certain if Erik _had_ papers with the name Sauveterre on them.

She was distracted by the conversation as the officer with her cup of tea knelt beside the couch. She drew away from him instantly, not liking his closeness. She knew police officers were mostly decent people. But… she had always shied away from police – even before tonight when she was so closely acquainted with a wanted criminal. She prayed to God that these men did not know of The Phantom of the Opera.

"What is your name, Madame?" the gentleman asked gently.

"Ara-Arabella…" she replied uneasily.

"Arabella what; Madame?"

"Arabella Sauveterre… Please… I fell through the ice by the Temple of Love… by the grotto… My husband pulled me out…"

Her voice was still slightly slurred. Arabella felt a moment of panic from so much stress. She had to be so careful! One wrong word or move, and these men might rip Erik away from her!

"Erik!" She raised her voice, and heard the instant response from across the width of the stove as Erik rose from his seat and it scraped across the floor. He stepped over to her, still wrapped in his blanket, and reached out to seize the officer close to her by the shoulder. She actually saw the moment when he restrained himself, and simply tried to press his body between them.

" _Monsieur_ …" He entreated. "You should not be so close to my wife! She is not properly dressed!"

"I will call a doctor for your wife." The man said apologetically.

"No – no doctors!" Arabella pleaded, forcing herself into a sitting position so that Erik turned his full attention to her. He again sat on the couch – this time close to her side. He put a comforting arm about her shoulders.

"The officers only wish to help us, Bella." He promised in a low voice.

In that moment, the man who'd been sent out again for clothes returned carrying a pile of them in his arms.

"This is all I could find." He sighed, offering them to Erik. "They won't fit properly, but they are clothes and they are dry and warm."

"Thank you, _Monsieur_." Erik said with genuine gratitude. " _Ma Belle_ … do you need…"

His eyes moved quickly about the room, realizing he didn't know where to take her to get changed. He certainly wasn't about to let these men see her undressed – or let them see _him_.

"You may use the holding cell." The commander suggested, moving over to the front desk to pick up a key and toss it to him. He saw Erik's eyes behind the mask – which had gone wide. His pupils had dilated in almost instant panic. "I'm sorry, but it's all we have."

"All right." Erik sighed heavily, turning back to help Arabella to her feet. " _Ma Belle_? Can you-"

"-Before I allow you to go there together… Madame… this gentleman is your husband?"

Arabella stood slowly with Erik's help.

"Yes, _Monsieur_." She said clearly, her voice almost hard in its decisiveness. But to keep talking, she had to think for a moment that she felt took much too long. "Our marriage is new… but he _is_ my husband."

The commander nodded curtly.

"Do you want me to carry you?" Erik offered. But she could tell he was not very keen on the idea. No doubt he was in enormous pain from already having carried her God-alone knew how far.

"No…" she murmured, although her legs were starting to almost burn as the feeling returned to them. Her fingers and toes ached, her elbows throbbed.

"We will send for a doctor." The commander offered again as Erik very slowly escorted Arabella towards the nearest holding cell.

"No."

Arabella and Erik glanced briefly at each other, both amused that they'd spoken simultaneously.

* * *

"My wife and I will be able to care for each other well enough once we are warm." Erik continued. "Thank you."

Erik gently pressed his hand to the small of Arabella's back, making her walk first into the holding cell. For a long moment he stood in the doorway, looking at her in the cramped space that was no more than 3 meters squared – and probably not even that. There was a window set up high in the wall so tiny that even a toddler could not worm its' way out… and a hard looking wooden cot attached to the wall. But the brick walls and tile flooring were all clean. It was a bleak room, but not dreary. It was just the idea of shutting himself in a cell – even voluntarily with full control over the locks – that had him instantly on edge.

"I can wait for you outside…" he offered uncertainly, stalling a moment to try and gather what reserves of his courage he had left - after forcing himself into the presence of multiple police officials.

"No… I think I need your help." Arabella admitted, blushing and looking away from him slightly. "My hands… they are too stiff. I don't think I could manage any stays or laces…"

"My fingers are likely to be just as stubborn." He admitted, frowning and finally stepping into the tiny space. He could not think of how they were going to change without bumping into each other – or without looking at…

He shook his head briefly to get rid of that burgeoning thought. He certainly did not want Arabella to see _him_ unclothed – and imagined that her discomfort must have been even greater. After all, _he_ was merely ugly as sin. She… _she_ had been through far worse in her relatively much shorter life.

Arabella was slipping off the blankets and fur coat, revealing the camisole and pantalets that were still soaked through to the point of opacity. Erik sucked in a sharp breath and whipped around sharply enough to nearly smack his head into the nearest brick corner. He put his forehead against the cool wall, pressing his palms there as well to keep them from curling into animalistic claws.

 _Damn this body_. He thought bitterly. _It always picks the most inopportune moments to misbehave!_

"Aren't you going to get changed?" Arabella asked quietly after just a few moments. "If you wait for me to peel these things off, you'll only get colder."

"Please don't put images like _that_ into my head." He groaned. "You're quite siren enough without doing that!"

He was slightly startled by Arabella's low chuckle – having expected her to recoil and chastise him for his moment of indecent honesty. Heat suffused his face beneath the mask. Soon sweat would start beading on his forehead if he didn't get himself under control. Considering the anxiety and exhaustion of the evening, he was not as quick to leash his body's impulses as usual. This was not the first time since Arabella's return he'd had an indecent thought… but it was certainly the first time he'd had such a good reason for it. If you could call this situation a good reason…

"Erik… you can get changed." She pressed after a moment. "I won't look. I promise."

"I am more concerned with _your_ modesty." He admitted.

"Erik… it's all right." She told him quietly. "I… I don't mind if you see me."

"Since when?" he challenged – more angry at his own mind and body because of how tempting they found her simple admission. "You used to shy into a corner or under a blanket the moment I came into the tent."

"That was thirty years ago." She pointed out. "I was younger… closer to the reasons I was so shy. I think I can handle you simply _seeing_ me. It isn't your fault there is nowhere else to-"

"-I should have taken a different holding cell."

"I'm glad you didn't." she admitted. "I can't imagine either one of us having to be alone in one of these… things…"

After another long moment, Erik took a deep breath and finally forced his mind and body to behave. The very last thing he wanted was for Arabella to see how obnoxiously affected he could sometimes be by mere _ideas_ or _flashes_ of... He thought it was despicable how easy it sometimes was… He turned; cracking one eye open to see that she had dropped her wet underthings onto the floor and had just finished struggling into the dry ones. She was already stepping into the oversized dress that was built for a stouter woman with much longer legs, and covering up quickly enough where he wasn't quite so ashamed of seeing her in that state. At least these clothes were completely dry, and thus he could not see through any of them.

"Let me fix up your laces." He offered through a voice that had become thick and unattractively nasally.

"You're getting sick!" she realized, turning toward him in her rather obscenely dangling dress. He could read the alarm and regret on her face and in her wide eyes as she reached up towards him. "I'm so sorry!"

"Nonsense..." He chided, catching the hand that sought his masked face with his own palm and gently curling it away from him. "You didn't fall through the ice on purpose, and I certainly didn't _have_ to take off so many pieces of clothing. This isn't your fault."

He took her shoulders in firm but tender hands, and turned her around so he could tighten the stays on the back of her dress. The last thing he needed was to see her traipsing about in clothes that could fall off of her at any moment. Still, he moved slowly so he could drop his voice and use his ventriloquists' skills to send it directly into her ear.

"When we return to the other room, please let me do the talking." He murmured. "They are … going to want some way to prove our identities. I have already claimed we are not living in Paris. But they will want an address. I will have to tell them that we are staying with Nadir, on the Rue de Rivoli. The Daroga will be furious with me; but I have no other feasible options. The only other people in this city who have ever known me … I don't know where they are. Charles Garnier is in Italy now…"

Arabella nodded, her loose wet hair brushing the back of his hands as he tried to finish the stays and then get the buttons near her collar. The dress was still going to be ridiculously loose, and she would have to be careful not to trip on the hem of the skirt. But it was dry and warm. She could always put the fur coat on again.

"Bella… if I cannot give them satisfactory answers…"

She looked at him sharply over one shoulder, her eyes wide.

"Please tell me you are not going to be _arrested_!" she breathed – her voice dropping low simply so that she doesn't give into nearly hysterical screaming. "You've done nothing _wrong_!"

"Bella… if any of them have heard of The Phantom… if they know how that gossiping scene shifter Joseph Buquet described me… They are already suspicious that I wear a mask. Their first thought was that I had kidnapped you – or that I was a rapist."

"But… but _you_ brought me to _them_!"

"It is the harsh world we live in, Bella." He explained wearily.

"They cannot possibly-"

"-Will you let me get us out of this situation, Arabella?" he demanded. "Do you trust me?"

She turned to face him completely, her face pale and her eyes solemn.

"Yes…" she managed to wheeze out. "Yes, I trust you."

It was probably the most moving thing anyone had ever said to him, and Erik swallowed the phlegmy lump in his throat that blossoming sickness had already created on its own.

"Then let me do the talking." He insisted again, waiting for her to nod. "Now… if you would be so kind… I need to change, too."

They carefully switched position, and Arabella stood leaning heavily against the locked door of the cell. Erik felt instantly nauseous, not wishing to be so deep into even this tiny space. He felt claustrophobic, and his chest tightened around his already straining heart. It was difficult to breathe. His mind just kept screaming to get him _out_ – get him _out_ before it was too late. All indecent thoughts about the barely dressed woman sharing the space with him were already long obliterated from his memory. He was in a locked prison cell… and it felt as though some sentence had already been passed on him.

"You told them I was your wife."

Arabella's low murmur snapped him out of his darkening and swirling thoughts as he quickly exchanged his soggy but elegant suit for the rougher working mans' suit. It was built for a shorter gentleman, and one not so lanky. But it would do. The socks were long enough to keep his calves warm, and the shoes would still barely accommodate his feet. The arms were not long enough, but the shoulders were wide and that gave him just enough extra fabric to force down onto his arms so that he could keep the wind outside off of him.

"I had to tell them _something_." He offered lamely. "A man carrying a barely dressed woman that is soaking wet… would have be positively indecent under any other circumstances. Now, please tell me… do you know the geography of Spain? Where could you and I claim to have been living?"

"Valencia." Arabella's response came so fast, that he understood this must be a town or city she knew well. He had never returned to Spain after her death except perhaps to pass directly through it as fast as possible. He had to trust she knew the country better than he did.

"Good. Then that is where we met and married." He stated decisively. By this point he was in his own 'new' clothing and trying to force enough of his oversized shirt into the waist band of his trousers to make them stay up. Even with bracers, it was going to be a trial to walk without tripping himself up.

He made sure they were both properly covered before opening the cell door, the keys dangling from his long fingers. He did not like having to be seen without so much as gloves on. His hideous hands – although they were virtually normal compared to his face – were all too visible. It spoke volumes of what must be hiding beneath his mask.

All five of the officers were in the room again, all of them turning as if one being in order to watch their approach. It made him hesitate briefly, and he felt Arabella follow his lead even in this. She hesitated at his side, sliding so close to him that his arm brushed her shoulder. With a deep breath he stepped forward, holding the keys out to the commanding officer. When he did this, the group of men relaxed slightly, as though knowing they were safe from… something. Maybe they'd been whispering about him and suspected he'd overheard them. Maybe they were just nervous men – and men like that never should be in law enforcement!

"Come, sit by the stove again, Madame Sauveterre." One of the officers offered, motioning to the seat that had earlier been given to Erik. "I am brewing a completely fresh pot of tea."

"I just want to go home." She objected softly, looking up to Erik for some cue. "Well… to the place we're staying, anyway…"

"Soon enough, Madame." The man insisted. "Come, sit. Let us speak privately with your hus-"

"-I am not leaving my wife alone." Erik interrupted almost icily, briefly forgetting that he was supposed to be attempting civility. He cleared his throat to distract from his slip in tone. "Forgive me… but I almost lost her tonight. You cannot ask me to leave her alone for one moment until I am satisfied that she is in no further danger."

"She certainly isn't in danger from _us_." The commanding officer stated.

"That is debatable." Arabella muttered, ducking her head when she realized her inability to keep her voice as low as Erik's. Color suffused her face.

"Please." Erik said quickly, to distract from her minor slip. "You may ask me anything you wish to right here. My wife and I are hiding nothing."

"Very well." The commander sighed in resignation. "Please take off your mask, _Monsieur_."

Erik's body went rigid as iron, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. He had known this might be coming… he had just thought he might have a bit longer to prepare for it. His immediate instinct was to lash out at the officers with his fists, to throw a piece of furniture between them and run. But Arabella was in no state to run! He certainly couldn't leave her behind! And if he did run – with or without Arabella – it would soon have every single officer in Paris after him. He would never escape the city or make it back to the Opera House.

"I beg your indulgence in this…" he began through gritted teeth. "My face is nothing but a ruin. It … suffered a terrible maiming. No one should ever have to look at it."

He could see Arabella trying to rise to her feet, her face pale with two hot spots of bright red high up on either cheek. He could see the rage in her caramel eyes and forced one fist to relax into an imperious flat axe that cut across the air in one short slash. It was an absolutely authoritative command that she sit back down. She did not listen to him in that, but _did_ obey otherwise by not speaking. She did not sit… but she also did not speak, and he turned his attention back to the commander of the small group.

He was the one out on the thin ice now. If he wasn't extremely careful… he and his gypsy princess could end up back in that holding cell – this time involuntarily.

"I apologize that this is an inconvenience." The man said rather sincerely. "But we need your names, your address, your papers; and we must file a descriptive report."

"I told you that I lost my papers while rescuing my wife. I also already told you that we are between residences at this moment!" Erik insisted.

"Well… is there no one in Paris who can vouch for you?"

"Perhaps…" Erik pretended to think. "I was a contractor under Garnier during the construction of the Opera House. I am sure some of the men under me are still around. Someone in the building authority might know of me."

"Do you have names?"

"For any of them? No. I have long since forgotten. I left the country after the premiere of the building, and only recently returned."

"Well hunting them down could take days, or longer." The commander sighed heavily. "If you do not wish to be held here –"

"- _Held_ here?" Arabella had finally lost her temper and strode back over to Erik, threading her arm around his. "What is the matter with you people? My husband saved my life! He did not commit a crime!"

"This is a mere formality that must be addressed, Madame Sauveterre." A secondary officer tried to explain calmly.

"Your system is ridiculous." She told him acidly. "My husband saves my life, and you interrogate him like a villain!"

"No one is interrogating him." The commander broke in, as Erik put a hand over her small one as it gripped the inside of his elbow. He squeezed tightly, but carefully. He was trying desperately to calm her down. How very like her to stand up and fight for him… "We simply need to formally identify you."

"Can we not simply come back once we've replaced the proper paperwork?" Arabella nearly whined, and Erik realized with a vicious start that she was… _faking_. She was exhausted and in pain – mentally as well as physically, no doubt. But she was most certainly _faking_ her outrage and fatigue. It was amazing she was doing such a fine job at it, considering they had already both agreed she was no actress. But these men did not know her, and she still had enough of a Spanish accent so that it would help in confusing how these men read her.

"Oh, if only we had a coin for every time someone promised they would do _that_." one of the officers laughed.

"Jacques…" the commanding officer warned him. "Monsieur, please. Make this fast and easy on all of us. Take off the mask."

"No." Erik denied again. "It would be undignified. Not only to me – who it will humiliate. But it will be undignified once you've seen what I look like and scream like a group of silly, hysterical school girls.

He reminded himself not to lose his temper. He must not lose his temper ad try to hurt any of these men. He had to get out of this situation before it boiled out of control. He had to get Arabella to safety.

The men grumbled for a moment, before their commander glared at them once again.

"I can offer a solution…" he finally managed. "Earlier, you mentioned a flat on the Rue de Rivoli."

"Yes." Erik pounced on this, having momentarily forgotten the earlier interrogation. At least, he'd forgotten that particular detail. Arabella's distress had thrown his entire plan out of focus for a moment. "We are staying there with a friend of mine from travels during my youth. A former Police Chief of the Persian government named Nadir Khan."

"Very well then. Allow me to give you a ride there in one of our police carriages – a discreet one that is entirely black so that no one will have much to gossip about when you arrive. If your friend confirms your identities, I will leave you there and we can go our separate ways."

The unspoken threat, of course, was that if Nadir did not play along… he and Arabella would be brought back here and locked up. No doubt they would be locked in separate cells. As they continued to be unable to prove their identities, they would be sent to separate prisons. God alone knew how long they would remain locked away. Maybe forever!

"That would be more than agreeable, Monsieur." He sighed in relief. Nadir would be furious… but if he understood the situation he would likely not feed Erik to these jackals. He found it difficult to trust anyone most of the time… but Nadir had yet to let the police take him for any of his previous crimes. He doubted Nadir would let him down now.

* * *

Arabella leans heavily on Erik as he helps her outside to the waiting black carriage. Only one officer will be coming with them – so clearly they are not so highly suspicious of her and Erik that they foresaw issues possibly arresting them later. This is foolish, of course, because Erik can easily dispose of this man now without even killing him. But, given that the man already has Nadir's address… that would be much less than wise. This also means that she and Erik will be given some privacy in the carriage.

They settle into the carriage, huddling close together for continued warmth. She can tell that Erik is deeply concerned with her well-being. Considering he has started coughing and sneezing occasionally, she has just as much reason to be concerned for him. Erik is not exactly young and resilient anymore. Even having barely suffered any truly bad effects of the cold and wet of the situation, he was coming down with a cold. As the carriage started, she reached up to brush her hand along his mask as though able to sense a fever through it.

"You really _are_ getting sick because of me." She sighed. "I am so sorry, Erik."

"Stop blaming yourself." He shook his head, taking her hand and squeezing it reassuringly. "This is _not_ your fault."

"Isn't it?" she challenged. "I shouldn't have gone out onto that ice. Even Adnah tried to warn me, and I didn't… I didn't…"

She sat up, looking around abruptly as she realized Adnah had not spoken to her since she'd been out on that ice. She searched without thought or word to see if he would respond to her sudden awareness. But no… he wasn't there. She could vaguely recall him making a promise to leave her alone; but she couldn't remember the specifics or if he'd even actually said it. It could have all been in her mind by that point. She'd been so weak and confused…

"What's wrong?" Erik asked tenderly.

Oh… the gentleness of his voice… Even while he was sick, and his voice was distorted… there was nothing quite like it in the world. Arabella decided not to worry about Adnah. Why should she, after all, worry about the ghost haunting her, who'd once been a man trying to rape her?

"Nothing… I just should have listened. Somehow, my little schemes always end in disaster, don't they? So much for a slightly romantic evening…"

"What was so unromantic about it?" Erik chuckled, his eyes glinting. "I was able to be a knight in shining armor to a damsel in distress! And I did not even have to slay a dragon or ogre. All it took was enduring a little discomfort, and forcing myself to be polite to a few officers of the law. Compared to some trials in my life, I'd consider that one _quite_ easy – _and_ romantic."

"Well… the damsel always gives her knight a prize in all the legends." She reminds him, impulsively taking one of his hands between both of hers and squeezing it affectionately. She tilted her head back so that she could meet his eyes through the mask. "What can I give you Erik? Perhaps a… No … a kiss wouldn't do. I mean it _would_ do _just_ **_fine_** , but…"

She hesitated at the expression in his gaze then took a deep breath.

"A first kiss should be solely out of love… don't you think?"

Erik managed a slight smile below the edge of his mask. But a moment later his head whipped around towards his side of the carriage, and he let out an explosive sneeze into his arm. He tried to do what most people would call a sniff… but clearly he could not, since he had no nose. He muttered something bitter that sounded like a Farsi curse – if she could recall anything in Farsi. Erik did always find entertainment in expletives when he learned a new language.

"Oh!" he forced a laugh. "Well… there is that aspect of it. But there's also the threat that I may sneeze all over you. Now… _that_ would be unromantic!"

She gaped at him… and apparently it made him uncomfortable enough to gently ease his hand out of her grip and turn to watch out the window on his side of the coach.

"You know… I think I will impose on Nadir for the entire night." He mused.

"Erik-?"

"-I do not fancy another long carriage ride back to the Opera in my current state… and you aren't showing signs of sickness, but you've been through quite an ordeal."

" _Erik_." She insisted again.

Reluctantly, he looked back to her, and she bit a moment on her lower lip.

"Did you … mean all the things you've said tonight?" she demanded anxiously. "The endearments… the title-"

"-what title?"

"The one claiming that I was your wife."

"Oh… well… you _are_ my wife." He stated uneasily. "Yes, you've been gone for a long time… but as you keep insisting, that doesn't change who or what you are."

"But you called me 'my love'." She pressed quietly, her voice and breathing trembling a little. Her chest and stomach hurt from how tightly her torso was clenching. Hope was unfairly exploding in her like a newborn sun. It was so much more painful than anything she'd felt so far… because she knew damned well what false hope could do. She'd seen the damage it could leave behind. "Just last night you-"

"-I am an old fool, Bella." Erik interrupted with a heavy sigh, reaching over and placing his hand against hers without clasping it again. "Don't you agree? Just an old fool… a coward. But tonight I think the shock of almost losing you all over again… the agony of it… I don't want to be a fool any longer. And I don't want to live without you again."

"No one likes to be alone, Erik." She argued, doing her best to find a good way to dampen down the fire inside of her.

"No." he agreed. "They don't. Not truly. But this is… _more_ than that. It's … because it is _you_. It is not wanting to no longer be alone. It is... wanting _you_."

She opened her mouth to respond - without the slightest clue what she was going to say - when the coach stopped abruptly and Erik held up a hand to gently command quiet. This was not the same kind of imperious command he'd given her in the police station when her anger had momentarily caught her in its grip. This was a gentle warning that they could be overheard.


	20. Chapter 20

Erik held tightly to Arabella's hand as they watched the police officer walk quietly up to Nadir's front door and knock briskly. He had requested they remain in the carriage – although it seemed more for their own personal comfort rather than any major suspicions that might have lingered in his mind. Arabella gnawed anxiously on her lower lip, not quite able to overcome the wash of hope and joy Erik's so very recently spoken words had invoked in her. But if Nadir denied knowing an Erik Sauveterre… whatever he'd said wouldn't matter. They'd be separated, put in different prison cells, and held for… well… she wasn't entirely sure what the specific charge would be.

"Nadir set me free from the very jaws of death itself." Erik told her in a nervous but gentle voice. "He let me escape Mazandaran. He did not turn any information about me over to the French police when I was acting as The Phantom of the Opera. I do not believe he will turn me in now."

"No…" Arabella agreed. "But he doesn't know the name Sauveterre… does he?"

Erik shook his head – but not in denial. It was a simple gesture that said he couldn't recall.

The door opened after another minute or so. The officer was standing in their line of view, but they had little doubt Darius had been the one to answer the door. After a brief moment of talk, the officer stepped inside but not far enough for the door to be closed behind them. He might be a little lax in his suspicions, but clearly wanted to reach the carriage easily if Arabella or Erik tried to run. At least he wasn't a complete fool.

Nadir must have come to the door, for conversation continued for another minute or two. Once or twice they could clearly hear the officer laughing.

"I think it's all right." Arabella said hopefully. She liked the sound of that laugh. It was the sound of a man who is not being put more on edge by what he is hearing.

"Yes…" Erik agreed, although he didn't look entirely convinced.

Only another minute passed before the officer stepped out of the house and towards the carriage. Nadir and Darius stood in the still open doorway, watching curiously.

"All right." The officer stated, opening the carriage door. "Your friend has vouched for you. I truly hope the rest of your night goes better than it has so far."

Arabella sighed almost silently in relief, feeling Erik's body sag with the same much more silent emotion. He climbed down and then offered a hand to help her.

"I can carry you." He offered.

"I walked to the carriage, I can walk to the flat." She told him quietly, perhaps a little stubbornly.

She glanced briefly at the officer who'd brought them to this place of safety.

"Thank you, _Monsieur_ …" she murmured.

"Your servant, Madame." He replied, reaching up to lightly touch the brim of his uniform hat.

"Good night, officer." Erik mumbled, not meeting the man's eyes before taking Arabella's arm and bringing her swiftly up the front steps of Nadir's flat. As they climb, he looks up to the pair of Persian men waiting for them. "Nadir… I suppose we have missed supper?"

Nadir frowned slightly at him but glanced meaningfully over his shoulder.

"I put plates aside for both of you." He replied with a little roll of his eyes. "I understand there was an accident of some kind. Madame Bella… you must be starving."

"I am, Daroga." Arabella admitted slowly, although she and Erik had eaten an early supper in order to walk through the park after sunset without having to starve themselves. "I'm also _exhausted_... I wasn't a moment ago, but…"

"It is the tension releasing." Erik whispered. "Now that you are safe you…" But he let his lecture trail off. The last thing Arabella needed was a lecture!

"If you are tired, then you must come in and rest." Nadir offered.

They could hear the police carriage as it drove away, and all four of them – including Darius – relaxed slowly as the sounds of wheels and horse-hooves faded.

"We were nearly arrested, Nadir! What did the officer say to you?" Erik finally demanded as the Daroga allowed them through the front door of his house and into the very small foyer. "What did _you_ say?"

"He asked if I could confirm whether or not I had a Monsieur and Madame Erik Sauveterre staying with me." Nadir sighed as Darius closed the door behind them, and they all herded into the parlor. "I did not realize you had a surname to go by… but I only know _one_ Erik… so I asked what in the Hell you had done _this_ time. Oh – pardon my horrible language, Madame Bella."

She had started chuckling at his admission of speaking instantly ill of Erik, and shook her head while waving off his necessity to apologize.

"The faith you have in me is astounding." Erik muttered to Nadir as he helped Arabella to a couch near a low-burning fireplace. "Darius, could you please put more logs on? Arabella nearly died tonight, falling through ice!"

Nadir's devoted servant moved to obey at once; and the news that Arabella had nearly frozen to death hurried into a nearby room only to return with a large heavy blanket that looked as though he might have torn it off of his own bed. Although that hadn't taken long, Erik had already bent down and removed the oversized boots on her feet and taken off the fine fur coat that had been given by the rich lady in the first carriage.

"You fell through ice?" Nadir asked her while Erik took the blanket and motioned for Arabella to lie down. Clearly he didn't care much about whether this was polite behavior or not… And Arabella was fading so quickly due to her sudden exhaustion that she simply followed his direction and pulled a little decorative pillow under her head while putting her feet up. "Darius; when you're done with that, please fetch Erik some tea?"

"Tea with brandy, if you would be so kind, Darius, please." Erik put in briefly. "It's a long story, Nadir. But Arabella fell through the ice in the Bois de Vincennes…"

"You left out the chase." Arabella murmured, already half asleep so that her voice was on the verge of slurring. Her caramel eyes lifted slowly to Nadir's curious expression. "My husband was chasing me through the park."

"Your husband?"

"Oh, look at him-" Erik couldn't help but let out a strangely shrill laugh that was close to a very disturbing giggle. Clearly he was just as emotionally and mentally exhausted as Arabella was physically worn. "-Already getting the entirely wrong idea! She means _me_ , Daroga! _We_ were playing a game of cat and mouse, and she showed some very tactical thinking in running out onto the lake. Unfortunately, she miscalculated and…"

Arabella hummed with amusement, one of her arms snaking out from beneath the comfortable and warm blanket in order to reach for Erik's hand. He placed it into her enfolding fingers without any hesitation whatsoever. He even lifted her smaller hand to his lips, brushing his lips in a feather-light caress over the skin of her knuckles without giving a damn that Nadir and Darius were both staring at them.

"I'm starting to think it might have been worth the risk." Arabella admitted as Darius shook free of his astonishment over Erik's good humor and tenderness, and disappeared into the kitchen.

"Risks normally are." Erik said. "Now hush, _ma belle_ … Get some rest. We'll go home… later…"

There were long minutes of silence as he smoothed back her hair, not taking his eyes off of her even when Darius returned with a cup of hot coffee. Erik merely held out a hand so the cup could be placed into it, and then held it carefully on one knee. It was clear he was anxious about moving or disturbing her while she wasn't quite all the way asleep.

But eventually he shifted so his back was mostly to her, and he began to sip at his drink. Darius had long since returned to the kitchen, and Nadir had lowered himself into a nearby chair.

" _Husband_ , Erik?" he asked slowly the first time his friend glanced in his direction. "Have you lost your mind? I understand if it was a ruse for those officers but – You _know_ how this girl feels for you, Erik! Toying with such words isn't _fair_ to-"

Erik rose so abruptly that he almost spilled his coffee and burned his hand. He glanced briefly down to be certain he had not disturbed Arabella. But then his golden eyes glowered at Nadir and he crossed the space separating them. Nadir stood up slowly; not foolish enough to be in a vulnerable position around Erik when his eyes blazed like that.

" _Toying_?" he hissed in a very low voice. "How _dare_ you accuse me of toying with _anyone's_ affections? Kindness and affection is such a rare thing in my life, Nadir! I would absolutely _never_ – _ **ever**_ \- toy with such a precious thing as Arabella's love!"

He was interrupted by a hard sneeze and coughing fit. It took well over a minute to force his body to calm down. When he was done, he walked away and stared into the fireplace.

"Do you have a handkerchief, Nadir?"

Only a few moments passed before one was held out at the side of his vision. He reached out to accept it then waved Nadir further back so that he could remove his mask, wipe it out, and then clean his own face. Once he was masked again, he didn't bother trying to return the filthy cloth to its owner, but stuck it into one of the pockets of his 'borrowed' trousers. He very slowly turned to look back at Nadir, his anger at the accusation diminished.

"She… Christine…"

He grimaced. He had hoped somehow that his fresh and complete acceptance of Arabella would somehow lessen the pain of hearing or speaking that name… thinking it. But no… it still hurt. He supposed that perhaps it would be a very long time before that pain became completely endurable.

"…is not coming back. That is clear. But … Bella… she… _loves_ me. I don't know _**why**_ … but she _**does**_ … and that's enough for me!"

"You are clearly _fond_ of her." Nadir offered although Erik could instantly tell this was a gentle prodding for more information… probably for some kind of confirmation.

"Yes…"

"Fond enough for that term to be thrown around…"

"It isn't a _term_." Erik replied icily. "Arabella _**is**_ mywife. You… you may congratulate me."

Nadir stood there for a long moment; too stunned to process what Erik had said. He almost looked shaken, if Erik was honest with his assessment. He actually found humor crawling its' way back into his system. But he was not prepared when Nadir drove another knife of suspicion into his chest.

"When did this happen?" he demanded. "This girl deserves more than the shallow pool of your affections, Erik. I hope it is more than-"

"-I would not say something I did not mean!" Erik snapped, the humor simply dissipating like smoke as rage filled him again. "I married her in a gypsy ceremony. It is not… official in the eyes of the church or our government… but I would _never_ take advantage of her!"

"So you intend to marry her _legally_?" Nadir challenged.

"Erik..."

The two men turned sharply, startled to see that Arabella had forced her eyes open a crack.

" _Miri kom_ …" she began again, her voice slurred with sleep as she tried to lift her head from the pillow.

Erik glanced almost hatefully at Nadir.

"We woke her, you idiot!" he hissed before kneeling on the floor in front of the couch. He reached out to stroke her hair, pressing her head down gently. "Hush, _ma belle_. You're safe now. Get some rest."

"You too?"

"Do not worry about me. I will rest very soon." He promised.

"Too bad this couch is… too small for two…" Arabella mumbled, obviously put into a state of immediate peace and acceptance by his reassurances, and smiled at Erik with a barely-there flirtatious glint that made him smile gently.

"Sleep, _mira kom_." He whispered. "In the morning we will go home, and the bed will give … you … plenty of room to sleep."

When he knew she had surrendered to even his illness-thickened voice and returned to sleep, he turned to see that Nadir's eyebrows had lifted nearly into his badly receding hairline.

"You admit that your marriage is not binding…" he said quietly. "Do you love her?"

"Who would not love Arabella?" Erik demanded. "You love her already, and you only have had a short acquaintance with her. You can even look at Darius for proof that she is _easy_ to love. He has only caught mere glimpses of her. She has never spoken a word to him… but he shows concern for her welfare like … like she is a flame and we are all just moths."

"That does not answer my very direct question." Nadir accused. "Are you _in love_ with her?"

"Oh, damn you, Nadir!" Erik scoffed. "What I feel for her is … so very different… from what I felt before… for … for…"

"For Christine." Nadir supplied gently.

"Yes, for _her_." Erik sighed. "But I do not want to live without her - without _her_ , Nadir. Is that enough for you? Must I say _**those**_ words aloud to you before I've ever gained the courage to say them to _her_?"

There was another long moment of quiet during which Erik finished off his coffee.

"It will have to do for now." Nadir admitted. "I truly am happy for you, my friend, if _you_ are happy. I just… I worry for her. There's something about her…"

"Yes, I know." Erik nodded curtly. "I … I am not exactly _happy_ yet. But I am _content_ … and… and I think I _will_ be happy… if I just… can have a little time… I have not … allowed myself this kind of hope in a very long time. Even with Christine… all the hope I felt then… it was not the same. She never _knew_ me as Bella does… _You_ know less about me than she does!"

"Will you ever tell me that story?" Nadir demanded with a slowly growing smile that softened his tone and his eyes. "You told me that you have a past with her… but nothing else. Just that you had a past, you were separated, and now she has come back into your life at just the right time to save your sorry life."

"Perhaps someday…" Erik shrugged. "My… my friend… I am grateful for your hospitality. But I am… so damned tired now… May I please…?"

"Of course; let me get you a pillow and some blankets. I am afraid we have no spare beds, and it would be absolutely indecent to make Arabella give up the sofa. Unfortunately I cannot give up my bed for … health reasons… And Darius' bed is much too small or a man of your size."

"I suppose this Persian rug will have to do for one night." Erik sighed; completely understanding that Nadir meant his old back – which had spent five years in a Mazandaran prison – would not be able to withstand the hardness of the floor. "Nadir… Thank you for saving us tonight."

Nadir looked nonplussed by the sincerity in his old friends' voice.

"Did you ever doubt for a moment that I would stand by you?" he asked. "It is not as though you have comitted some fresh crime… have you?"

"Not as of late, no." Erik managed a weary chuckle.

When Nadir brought him pillows and blankets, Erik made certain to put one of the expensive feather pillows under Arabella's head before curling up on the ungodly uncomfortable floor. Nadir was older than he was by a few years, but not by too much. Erik knew he would be aching from jaw to toes in the morning after years of a marginally more comfortable bed… that terrible coffin that since Arabella's return had been banished from the house. Now he'd grown used to his mothers' old feather mattress…

He was prepared for a night of utter hell. But Arabella was warm, safe, comfortable… and – he thought – happy. He was not going to be bitter about a single night on a hard floor. And he was tired enough where being uncomfortable in the moment was not going to keep him awake. He'll suffer in the morning. He'll groan and complain and be furious that Nadir could not be a better host… Erik was very honest with himself about this foreknowledge. But the time being he just sank into sweet oblivion.

* * *

When he woke the next morning, in just as much pain as he'd suspected he would be in, he was surprised that Arabella had moved from the couch. He found her lying almost face-to-mask with him, her eyes halfway open as her head shifted blearily on the pillow he'd given her. She offered a weak, half-awake smile, and reached out to touch his masked cheek… which he allowed.

"What are you doing down here?" he demanded gently. "Was the couch not comfortable enough?"

"The couch was fine…" she replied in a whisper, stopping to yawn. "I had other reasons for wanting to be down here with you."

This answer was so cryptic that Erik doubted very much she meant it in any kind of flirtatious way. He took in a deep breath and pushed himself into a painful sitting position. He groaned, trying to loosen his neck, shoulders, and back muscles. While falling asleep he'd entirely forgotten how much carrying he'd done of Arabella the night before. After adding the pain of sleeping on a hard floor … he was all but in agony.

"Oh God… I am far too old for this… but … I suppose it's better than sleeping out in a field somewhere…"

He stretched, yawned, and gave a little smirk as Arabella also sat up and did something rather similar.

"I'm sorry. I should at least say 'good morning', and pretend I have manners, before I begin complaining…"

"You sound a little better." Arabella observed as she stood with much more ease than he ever could have. He watched as she lifted their blankets and began to deftly fold them into a nice neat pile to be left on the couch. "Except for your obvious aches and pains, I mean. But your cold is already getting better… Perhaps I should give you that knightly reward you earned last night by giving you a massage when we get back home. Or… or I could just … wait until after my appointment…"

She slowed down her folding of the final blanket to glance uncertainly at him.

"I could cancel the appointment… I could let that be your prize. I know you don't really want to attend the masquerade."

"I did not want to." He admitted, slightly correcting her. "But at the same time… I realize it is one of the few times I ever get to be in public … No one notices me in a room full of masks. Please don't try and cancel your appointment. And… being your escort would be…"

He waved a vague hand, unable to think of a suitable word that would not come out sounding absolutely ridiculous. He continued stretching as he stood, his ribs cracking in a way that felt like an enormous relief rather than painful.

"Besides… I told you that it was _you_ who won our little game last night. I am the one that owes you the prize." He kept his voice carefully low, noticing how dim the sunlight coming through the windows was. It was very odd, being in a house with windows again. It made him slightly nervous, although he doubted anyone would be peering at them during such an ungodly hour. "What is it you wish, _ma belle_? Whatever it is, the impossible will be achieved for you immediately. A miracle, however, will take a bit more time."

This strangely flippant but cheery promise made Arabella burst into a fit of giggles. She quickly covered her mouth to keep the muffled, glancing towards Nadir's bedroom door. Both had been keeping their voices low to respectfully let the older gentleman get his sleep. Erik found that he was grinning. He liked her laughter a great deal. When she lowered her hands, she was still smiling.

"I think I will hold my wish hostage." She decided. "I wouldn't even know what to wish for otherwise…"

"Take your time." Erik encouraged. "Heavens' knows I wouldn't know what to ask for, either."

That was a bald faced lie… but it would be humiliating to let Arabella know the types of things his mind thought up.

"Now…" He held a hand out to her. "We should leave before we wake our host. I will sneak away a purse so that we can take a cab back to the Opera. I don't want to walk all the way there in daylight."

"Erik!" Arabella scolded. "You cannot steal from your friend. Money is not a pocket watch!"

"I did not say I would _steal_." He answered reasonably. "I intend to pay it back once I have my own money on me again. Besides … I would say the money needed for cab fare is worth _far_ less than a pocket watch."

"It's still stealing, Erik." She insisted, although he could see that she was highly amused by his reasonable argument.

"Oh, very well." He heaved a great sigh of false exasperation. "I suppose there are plenty of complete strangers starting to take to the streets… Stay here, Bella, and I will return when I've gotten what we need."

"Erik, it's broad daylight." She reminded him. "If anyone notices their purse is missing, they are going to _remember_ you. Why … why can't we go out and _earn_ our money for a few minutes? It won't take very much…"

"Earn it?" Erik demanded warily. "How?"

"Well… you may have forgotten this, Erik, but _you_ can _sing_. I can dance. We'd just be a pair of vagabonds… and your skill while I dance just might help you take a purse or two when no one would notice. Surely they wouldn't suspect the two performers earning a low but honest living…"

Erik gaped at her. He couldn't help himself. She was… genius He hadn't even thought about outright begging In the street… or performing. He hated to perform on his own because everyone always stared at his mask. He drew too much attention to himself. But he'd been given a hat to go with his outfit. He could duck his head low while he sang, and stay in a deep shadow… No one would take notice of him if Arabella was dancing. She was much too entrancing…

"You would… do that with me?" he asked breathlessly. It was not so much the idea that Arabella would perform with him that he found so touching. It was posing as beggar vagabonds. To him, appearing as a beggar would be one of the most degrading ideas he could ever come up with.

"Erik, I always have loved performing with you." Arabella rolled her eyes at him affectionately. It made him want to reach out and brush his hand down her cheek, but… he didn't quite dare. In spite of the past twelve or so hours, he simply didn't dare. "Although… our … the way we feed off of each other seems to have intensified since … since the days of 'beauty and the beast'."

Erik's entire body clenched, remembering her dance the morning before.

"Then … I will borrow from Nadir." He insisted. "We certainly don't want to make outright spectacles of ourselves and be _too_ memorable."

He saw the look of reproach on Arabella's face and held up his hands.

"Do not worry, _ma belle_. I will leave him a note. And I will pay him back."

"I should certainly hope so, my friend."

The both turned sharply. Erik gave a low curse; reaching for a Punjab lasso that was no longer in his ill-fitting jacket even as he recognized Nadir's voice. Neither had heard him come through the bedroom door, and he stood in its' small opening with a little smirk of amusement on his face. In spite of the smile, he looked almost ancient in his dressing robe and slippers. He had not even combed what he had left for hair yet – which was visibly untidy even under the cap meant to help keep his head warm at night.

"Daroga!" Erik snapped. "You're lucky to be at such a distance to me, you old fool! Don't you know better than to sneak up on the Angel of Doom?"

"I am quite sure Azrael remained behind us in Persia." Nadir said without worry as he stepped out into the parlor. "Now… you said something about borrowing money from me? How much do you need?"


	21. Chapter 21

_**THIS CHAPTER IS RATED R/NC-17. I'm honestly not sure where that line gets drawn, so be forewarned!**_

 _ **Thank you to all of my readers, and my reviewers (particularly Marblesky for your amazing feedback. You always know how to bolster my ego!)**_

 _ **and my quasi-collaborator E.M.K.81! She has helped me IMMENSELY, and has drawn my first fan art! You can find her on deviant art as Erik1881 (If that is incorrect in any way, please correct me in the reviews, E.M.)**_

 _ **Don't worry – NOT the last chapter. Plenty of drama to come!**_

 _ **Once again, I ask leniency when it comes to pointing out my no doubt numerous left over typos. I hope they do not detract from the joy this chapter is meant for Erik lovers to feel. And if you aren't an Erik lover, I don't know WTF you're doing HERE. lmao!**_

* * *

"You are doing very well."

Erik watched gentle color suffuse Arabella's face. Because she had been there to see all his lessons with Christine, she knew how hard his compliments were to come by. But what she did not seem to realize was that he'd been so severe with Christine because of what her _aspirations_ had bee. He hadn't been _able_ to praise her as much as he'd longed to. He'd needed to keep up the facade of being an Angel … and _then_ he'd had to continue with the same routine once she knew him as Erik. Giving her too many compliments would have made her far too self-assured about her future as a soprano in the Opera House; and ego helped absolutely no one in such a career.

Arabella, however, was only taking piano lessons from him for the fun of it. He would not praise her if she were not doing well – but he was far more able to give her the praise she probably needed much more. Christine, after all, had believed herself to have been picked by God above to receive divine lessons from the Angel of Music. Arabella was hearing praises from the man she knew as her husband. Sometimes such simpler connections made compliments mean all that much more.

"They are just scales…" she protested.

"They are fast and intricate scales." He corrected, standing up from the piano bench where they had already been sitting side-by-side for a few hours. "I need something to drink. Would you like me to pour something for you?"

"No, I'm all right." Arabella turned without rising, and leaned down. Erik watched from the corner of his eyes as she reached for the laces of the brand new shoes she was wearing, and began to slip them off. He turned his back to pour a very small glass of brandy. "You know that you make a terrible liar, don't you? I'm not some gullible ingénue that's going to believe all your pretty compliments. I _know_ I'm a fumbling novice."

He couldn't help but smile. Although so little had changed in their daily routines since the night of the Bois de Vincennes incident; he somehow found himself almost always smiling now. Taking a sip from his drink, he turned to face her again.

He saw that she'd already done quick worth with the shoes, and then pulled the skirt up almost to her knees to unroll her stockings and remove _them_ as well. It gave him a far too tantalizing look at her calves and ankles – parts of a woman he thought he would never so casually glimpse. But this was such a simple sighting … such a simple moment… Although nearly every part of his mind and body stirred at the sight, that was all it was. It was nothing but a stirring of vague male interest.

"What are you doing?" he demanded, although he allowed amusement into his tone. Somehow he just… didn't have it in him to be scandalized in that moment. Maybe it was the fact that they'd grown so much closer … even if nothing had happened between them.

"I was hoping you would let me dance for you again." She glanced up at him, caught him looking at her legs, and gave an utterly flirtatious and indulgent smile. He hunched his shoulders slightly, his ears burning as his face filled with color and his eyes dropped to the glass of liquor in his hand. "And I dance best in bare feet."

"I always like watching you dance." He admitted almost sheepishly. "But you probably should have waited until I agreed. This flat is far too cold to go around barefoot without good reason."

"You're lecturing."

"More like gently scolding…"

"Erik… you know don't have to look away… don't you?"

He blushed even hotter; placing what little of his glass was left beside the brandy decanter.

"It is best if I do…"

"Why? You never look away while I'm dancing. And I _know_ my skirt flies up sometimes when I do."

"That's _different_ …"

" _How_?" Arabella rose to her feet and crossed the space between them, making Erik feel a little overwhelmed. For all the time Arabella now invaded his private space in the smallest and gentlest of ways… he still found it amazing that she would bother doing so.

"You… you are not undressing yourself when you are dancing." He admitted reluctantly, trying to back away and edge to the side so that he wasn't – in his eyes – pinned between her and the cabinet. It was silly to feel so claustrophobic, when he had plenty of room between himself and the siren called Arabella. "Tell me, _ma belle_ … What do you want me to play for your dance? Would you like something in particular… or shall I improvise as I used to for our performances?"

"You are changing the subject." She accused him with a knowing smile.

"Are you going to answer my question?"

"Honestly, Erik, is it so terrible that you were looking at my legs?" Arabella wouldn't let him escape.

"I could play the song I played for our first performance… or at least some variation on it." He offered desperately. "I never wrote it down, so I never memorized it. But I remember the themes involved."

"Erik!" Arabella crossed her arms across her chest, her eyes alight with mischief. "I am not going to answer any of your questions until you answer mine. Why is it so terrible that you were looking at my legs? I don't understand why legs are considered so indecent!"

Sighing, Erik made a dramatic, helpless gesture with both arms and hands.

"I… it's… It's not your legs…" He admitted in exasperation. "It … it has more to do with where the legs _lead_. And if a man is staring at woman's ankle and wanting to touch it… he's going to imagine sliding his hand high-"

He took a sharp step to the side, mortified at his explicit confession – even if it had gone unfinished. He'd certainly caved in to her demand for an answer. He hadn't meant to say so much… but sometimes he just felt so flustered when she gave him that flirtatious look! He still had a hard time putting together the mature and confident Arabella inside of her mind with the young and tortured girl she appeared to be from his past. Filthy and indecent thoughts about her made him feel so _damned_ _**guilty**_! After all she'd been through in her life, she didn't deserve to have a man gaping at her and thinking such disgusting things!

He dared to glance at her from the side of his eye. She'd grown still, her face bright red as she took in his meaning. She fidgeted a moment, and he groaned.

"Can you forgive me?" he whispered. "Thinking such disgusting things? Fantasizing about you that way?"

"Erik…" Arabella shifted slowly, carefully reaching out and lightly caressing the top of his arm. He felt like shrining away… but her touch always felt far too good. He didn't want to lose the sensation that came now more often than before… but still not nearly often enough. He adored the feeling of her kind little caresses. "Look at me… please…"

"I can see you." He offered lamely.

"But you are not looking _at me, miri ves'tacha_."

He was astonished – at least partially – when she reached up and pressed her hand to his unmasked face. This was an action she had performed before… but not like this. The touch was usually brief; as though she appreciated how he now went about the house unmasked to make her happy, and wanted him to know. It was still taking a lot of getting used to. He couldn't help but flinch when he saw her looking at him… or when her gentle hand caressed him even for the briefest second. He was so used to pain that every muscle in his body expected her touch to hurt. As usual, though, this touch was nothing he needed to have feared. It was only more inexorable, and she tried to press his face around until he looked into her eyes.

The tenderness in her caramel eyes made him tremble slightly in shock. It always did.

" _Miri kom_ …" she murmured gently. "You desire your _wife_. There is nothing disgusting or indecent about that. I knew over thirty years ago you wanted me… But back then your desire was undefined… you knew that making love was an activity husbands and wives shared. You may have even had a vague idea of what it meant. But you knew absolutely _none_ of the specifics – not even in theory. Your want was more of an innocent urge."

"Now I am a disgusting old corpse of a man that knows far too much theory." Erik grumbled. "You must know I would _never_ ask you to do anything-"

"-I don't want to hold my wish hostage anymore." She interrupted his self-deprecation quickly. The subject felt as though it had swerved so hard and fast off course that it left him off balance and he could only stare mutely at her.

Arabella smiled, reaching up so that suddenly she was framing his face in her gentle hands. He almost pulled back … but again found he couldn't deny himself the exquisite sensation of her skin brushing his. No one had ever touched him like that.

"Do you trust me, Erik?" she asked.

"I – Bella – what –"

"-It is a simple question, Erik. Do you trust me?"

"I…" Erik took in a shaking breath. "Yes… absolutely."

"Then close your eyes."

Sighing, he nodded briefly and did as his beautiful gypsy princess requested. He absolutely _despised_ how vulnerable keeping his eyes closed made him … but he had to trust Arabella. If he could not trust her, of all people, who'd watched him for over thirty years and _still_ stood by him lovingly today… then no trust existed in the world.

It began with her hands moving. They slide down and slowly turned over; as if afraid to lift completely so he would not be startled when her fingertips returned. He felt her gently brush all our fingertips over almost every inch of his face. The pads of her thumbs were more determined and firm – smoothing over his ruined skin and his hard-earned scars. It felt as though she were the one with her eyes closed – or blinded - and was trying to memorize him with her hands. And she was so gentle! It was almost impossible to be wary when her touch was turning him into an emotional _puddle_. He was so overwhelmed that he was sure his body in and of itself would soon turn to putty for her.

"H-how can you?" he choked out. "How can you stand to even _look_ at me like you do… never mind _touch_ me this way? How is it I don't _disgust_ you?"

"Why would I be concerned with what you look like?" Arabella murmured curiously. "After all the harm I have seen men with handsome or even plain faces do… I find no reason to trust in the beauty of faces. Oh, I'm sure I would still love you if you were the new Adonis… but… I do not look at what you _seem_ to be, Erik. I see _you_."

He shook his head in amazement, but only slightly.

"I love you."

There was a long pause. Her hands grew still on his face and he worried he'd frightened or offended her. Finally being faced with such stark words… she was probably thinking what a mistake it had been to touch him. In a moment she would laugh at him, or scream, or pull away. He felt his body starting to quiver again and start to pull away.

Before he could, however, her hands again cupped his cheeks between them and abruptly something soft as satin and tasting slightly of wine and cheese pressed against his mouth. Erik gasped, shoulders hunching as his eyes flew open and his hands lifted to catch Arabella by the shoulders and push her away.

Then he saw Arabella so close that it was difficult to make out her closed eyelids and the long black lashes that threatened to scrape his corneas. He'd never been so close to her! She was so close that her nose threatened to slip into the opening where _his_ nose _ought_ to have been! Erik grew still again, this time from amazement. His grip on her shoulders changes so that his hands slid down her arms towards her elbows, and Arabella took it as an open invitation to wrap her arms around his neck.

A kiss…

He was kissing his wife… and she was holding him… and…

Erik's knees gave out and he crumpled to the floor as a sob of astounded joy broke from his lips. It broke the kiss. It broke his contact with her – except for the fact that his head was so close to her stomach that it almost touched it, and his hands had slid down from her upper arms to gently circle her wrists.

"Erik…"

He stared at Arabella as she sank down to her own knees. He watched, dumbfounded, as she again wrapped her arms around him and leaned in for yet another kiss. Because his lip was hanging open, this time their kiss was _**far**_ more passionate… and Arabella didn't seem even remotely disturbed by it! He could _taste_ her! Not just the remnants of their shared lunch earlier that day, but _her_! Their lips slid together intimately, and his entire body jolted when he felt a gentle prodding from her tongue.

"God – Bella!" he begged, although he tried not to break the kiss. His entire body responded instantly with a rush of need and love.

Arabella was the one to break their kiss… only to brush her mouth over his face just as her hands had done. He was _certain_ she didn't mean to arouse him. He was _certain_ that if he tried to touch her again that she would pull back and demand to know what he thought he was doing. But this gift was greater than any kiss he'd ever _imagined_ receiving! This had not been like Christine's kiss of affection and pity … if indeed there had ever been any affection at all in that kiss. This had been the kiss of a _lover_!

"Thank you…" he whispered, still crying helplessly and daring to reach out tentative hands so that they found her waist and tried to urge her a little closer. He didn't want to trap her in his arms… but he _needed_ to hold her … to be nearer to her.

"Thank _you_." She replied, finally pulling back. Erik opened his eyes completely so that he could gaze at her. "That was my first kiss… I have never kissed anyone before. Not on my own accord."

"You-"Erik gaped. He didn't think that he could look any more foolish … but he kept feeling the shock wash over him. " _You_? But you're so …"

"So used, Erik." She sighed. "Remember?"

Her arms slowly began to slip from his shoulders, and Erik found himself drawing her even closer so that his own arms went down around her waist.

"Not used!" he nearly snapped. " _You_ are _not_ used! You were _abused, mira kom_!"

Arabella smiled as though she thought he was only indulging her.

"Can I tell you what I want for my prize now?"

"Of course!"

He stared at her … wondering just how he was supposed to give her _anything_ like what she had just given him.

"I want you to kiss and touch me as I just touched and kissed you." She murmured, her face not flushing with color because the kissing had already given her high color. "Erik…I…"

She wanted _more_?

His blood absolutely raced in his veins and arteries. _He_ wanted more!

"Is that all?" he croaked.

"No…" Arabella suddenly lowered her eyelashes shyly. But they didn't stay that way for long. In only a moment she met his gaze evenly … and the depth of emotion there made him almost fall into her so that he could grant the first half of her wish.

"Then what?"

"I want the wedding night you promised me I could demand of you once I was ready… and healed."

Erik froze. Simply… froze. He couldn't speak. He couldn't move. He could not even _breathe_.

He had never imagined that he could ever have such a night. When he was young and not so hardened, he'd dreamed of a wedding night with Arabella. He'd hoped that maybe she could grow to love him enough … to be desensitized enough to his hideous face and body… that she would one night allow him to make love to her. He'd dreamed that she could overcome her aversion to being touched and kissed… that her trauma would fade and they could be a normally married couple.

But that had been over thirty years ago! In the intervening years, he'd grown to accept that he was simply too ugly for any woman to desire or endure.

"You … would… do that for me?" he finally forced himself to say. His voice was barely even a breath of sound.

"No." Arabella admitted. And for just a second his heart plummeted into his stomach. It would have sunk lower than even that, but she was smiling. It bolstered him slightly. "I will do that for both of us… for _me_. _I_ want to be with you… to have a normal marriage with you."  
He gaped at her for what felt like endless years.

 _A real marriage? A real marriage with a real and living wife? Why is she not disgusted by me? How can she …_

But he shook the thoughts away.

He _wanted_ Arabella. At her request to have a wedding night, his entire body had come alive in a way that made earlier stirrings seem positively lazy. There was no denying he wanted her. He _loved_ her.

But she had been through so much with her father and Adnah…

Adnah… who had been haunting them since her return.

"What about our uninvited guest?" he croaked. "I would not … we could not possibly … he would…"

"Adnah?"

She looked as though this was the first time she'd thought of him in days. And maybe she hadn't. She certainly hadn't mentioned him annoying her lately. Not since the night of the ice.

"He… he's not here." She said quietly. "I have not heard him since … since the Bois. I think he said he would leave me alone for a week if I listened to him – well, to both of you, really. He was trying to get me to fight my way to the shore. He was constantly yelling in my ear, trying to irritate me into action… It … it worked. I suppose he must be keeping his word because I haven't heard him at all since then. Not even later that night."

"And… and you…"

Slowly – trembling – Erik reached up to cup her face in his hands just as she had done with him earlier. He gently smoothed his thumbs back and forth across her cheekbones.

"You want this? Truly?"

Her eyes filled with a slight sheen of tears, and he nearly yanked back.

God … had he managed to hurt her already? Was he such a monster that he didn't even know how to be tender?

But when he tried to pull back she seized his wrists and held him there.  
"More than anything." She admitted with a smile. "I … I am afraid. Of course I am. I have only ever known pain. But … I want you to teach me that there is more. We could have lost each other again when I went through that ice, Erik. I don't want to waste our chance anymore…"

"It wouldn't be a waste, Bella! You're _here_! You _love_ _me_! That is enough for me!"

"But not for _me_ …"

"How can I _possibly_ … I only know what to do _in theory_! What if I-"

" _ **I**_ know." She insisted. "I know the actual _actions_ , at least. I will help you … if you help me. _Love_ me Erik… please… as a husband loves a wife…"

Uncertainly, his breath coming in short fast pants that were almost soundless, he leaned forward to kiss her temple. He didn't want to kiss the center of her forehead. That would feel too much like reliving his kiss with Christine all over again. And Arabella was _not_ Christine. She deserved better … more … than an echo of something else. And he left his lips there, waiting to see what would happen. And when nothing did – absolutely nothing – he trailed his lips to her other temple, then slowly to the side of her eye. His hands dropped from her face and he dared to put his arms down around her waist and gently pull her closer.

"I would never hurt you, _mira ves'tacha_ …" he promised fervently.

She didn't fight him. She didn't object. She was utterly pliant – letting him behave how and when he chose. It seemed to take forever before he could dare touch her mouth with his again. But when he tried to kiss her tenderly, she responded with a desperate hunger he had never suspected of her. Not even when she'd been kissing him moments before. It took his breath away – again and again – and his arms moved. His hands moved. His actions were careful and uncertain – terrified of disgusting her or scaring her away – but eventually his hands held firmly to the tops of her hips, and his fingertips were resting on the swell of her rear. She was pressing closer to him in a way that threatened to bring their stomachs and pelvic bones together. Her arms snaked around him, holding on tight.

Then she retrieved one hand long enough to take his wrist, and push his hand gently down towards the stays of her blouse.

"Please…?"

"Wait…" he whispered. Although they had not done very much at all… he already felt overwhelmed. He felt like the tiniest thing might send him over an edge of greed … of lust so strong that he would absolutely devour her.

After over fifty years on this earth as a virgin … was it any surprise he was already on the threshold of becoming out of control?  
But he wanted to make this special for them both. He wanted this to be about their love and not his disgusting carnal fantasies.

"Not here…" he clarified as he slowly stood and pulled her up by the hands. "Not on the floor of our parlor…"

 _Our._ He'd called it 'our parlor'. Not 'my' parlor… "Our'…

He turned and motioned vaguely towards the Louise-Phillippe room.

"If you mean this, _ma belle_ … You may be my beauty … but I will not take you like a beast…"

* * *

Arabella lay on her side facing Erik. He had shakily helped her with the stays of her dress, so that she could slip out of it. He'd even removed his vest and undone the wrist buttons of his sleeve. His shoes were on the floor, and he was resting beside her on the bed with one hand constantly stroking her cheek. She was trembling, her heart racing. The longer it took for Erik to work up the courage to kiss her again, the more nervous she felt.

She had felt so bold out in the parlor. She had known exactly what she wanted. She _still_ wanted it.

Everything about Erik was attractive to her. Everything other than his face, that was… although; in her own way, she found even his deformity strangely beautiful. It wasn't that how he looked aroused her. That came from the sound of his voice murmuring his endearments. It came from how his fingers danced over the fingerboard of his violin… how he lounged on a sofa or chair while reading. It was in the size of his immeasurable heart – which had been twisted and bruised for so many years he didn't seem to realize just how large it truly was. It was in his patience and compassion for 'lesser creatures'… the way his eyes lit up when he looked at her. It was how he stared at her when she danced.

He never seemed to understand that she could look at him and never see a single flaw simply because she was too busy noticing everything else about him.

She desperately wanted him to see her the same way.

"Are you certain you want this?"

"Yes…"

"You'll tell me if I … go too fast? If I frighten you or hurt you?"

"I _promise_." She insisted.

For another long minute, Erik stroked along her cheek, eventually working his way down to her neck. Arabella closed her eyes and tilted her head away to give him better access to the column of her throat. It was interesting just how intense the sensation of his skin touching her there was. Her entire body clenched in appreciation and demanded more.

"Tell me … what to … how to…" Erik pleaded. "I don't even know where to begin."

Arabella opened her eyes and reached up, not wanting to take his hand from her throat but not able to move his other hand because he was propped up on that elbow. Gently and slowly she dragged his arm so that his fingers never quite left her. They burned a trail over the thin slip she was wearing – the only clothing she had left on after deciding too many clothes for Erik to remove would be too nerve-wracking for both of them - down over the top of the swell of her breast, lightly skimming a nipple in an accidental way that made her gasp briefly and arch her body towards him.

"Wait…" Erik resisted any further pulling, just before he'd have had to leave the softness of her breast behind. He wasn't even really touching it yet, in all honesty. His fingers were curled inward in a very loose paw, and the backs of them were what played over her. His pupils had dilated and she could hear the huskiness of his breathing change the tone of his voice. "I've never … touched… I… _May_ I?"

Arabella released his wrist, and let her hand lay along the side of his body. She tilted her shoulder back just slightly so he could see slightly better in the gaslight of the lamp behind her.

"Yes." She invited, her own voice strained.

She watched excitedly as Erik brushed his knuckles lightly over the curves of her breast again, before rotating his wrist so that the pads of his fingers lightly touched the nub that had turned noticeably stiff even through the fabric of her underclothes. They were both trembling badly now – at just this tiny touch.

Arabella whimpered softly, biting hard on her lower lip. Erik's eyes jerked up from her chest to warily look into her eyes.

"Are you all right? Did I do something-"

"-I'm fine." She told him quickly. "It feels so nice Erik… _So_ nice…"

"Oh…"

He seemed awed as he looked back down to his uncertain administrations and put a little more pressure against her tip, before letting thumb and finger slip to either side. He didn't squeeze or pinch or twist. He just held it firmly… and then dared to cup the entirety of her rather generous flesh in his palm. He kept glancing up at her again, watching her reaction and hearing the tiny noises she made. Slowly, as he massaged, he leaned forward and pressed his mouth to hers again.

By the time he was done kissing her, he was lying half on top of her and pressing against her almost helplessly.

"I am never going to make it through the night." He bemoaned as he ducked his head, his breath fanning over her chin and throat.

"Oh!"

"What? What is it?" He panted worriedly.

Arabella reached up, tracing over his mouth with her fingertips and then touching her neck. Erik's eyes widened, but tilted his head in curiosity as though he still didn't quite dare understand.

"Will you kiss me … here?" she asked uncertainly. Her skin felt on fire… and she'd never have thought about a man nuzzling or kissing her throat. It seemed a ridiculous place to feel any desire to be touched … but she very much wanted him to do it now! She felt slightly ashamed of herself, but she could not deny what her body asked for. Not when she'd spent years assuming she would never want anything even remotely like this _for herself_.

Erik slowly obeyed… and at her over-excited reaction became almost instantly emboldened and began to suckle there just as he'd done to her lips out in the parlor. She didn't know if he'd even been aware of what he was doing – but it was exactly what had prompted her to brush her tongue against his lips. It had just felt like the right thing to do – and he'd certainly seemed to appreciate it

Heat filled her. A molten heat that seemed heavy and devouring as it swept through her blood. She was still _very_ nervous, still a little terrified that somehow this would hurt no matter how gentle Erik was. But the other sensations coursing through her were beginning to override that. Especially as Erik moved his hand from her breast, up to her shoulder, and tried to slip the strap of her slip down her arm. The cool air of the flat hit her overheated skin and made her shiver in delight.

"Bella I… I want… to… "He whispered, but still seemed much too shy to confess his desires. He was like a boy, really. It endeared her to him even further. It made her feel safer, somehow.

"Yes." Was the only answer she could give him.

The material of her slip was brought down even further, and then his mouth was blazing the same trail as his hand had earlier…

Only for one moment was she afraid that their wedding night was going to come to a screeching halt. It had been when Erik loomed over her, glorious in his nudity and pressing against her with arms on either side of her head as he supported his weight to keep a majority of it off of her. Her brain had flashed to another place and time, and her hands had seized him in a grip so tight that her fingernails bit into his flesh.

"What's wrong" he demanded instantly, growing stone still and nearly drawing away.

All Arabella could do was shake her head. She couldn't even form the right words to explain herself. With a groan that he tried to suppress, Erik had rolled off of her and pulled her into his arms. But the very moment he no longer loomed over her, Arabella broke free of her fear and kissed him. She kissed him long, deep, and hard. Her body pressed to his hungrily, and Erik couldn't help but cling to her in return. He pulled her so hard against him – without being truly forceful, or hurting her in the least – he rolled onto his back and pulled her on top of him. He was only trying to be a comfort to her… but the new position gave her a new sense of safety and reassurance she had never known existed.

And they had again become lost in each other's kisses, caresses, and bodies.

* * *

Later Arabella had lain on him, stroking his chest and enjoying the feel of his fingers combing through her tousled hair. Neither could really move. They were too tired, too satisfied. Erik seemed to be dozing, and Arabella was simply afraid that if she moved she would lose the feeling of intense connection they were sharing.

"I love you…" she breathed. She was amused at how stunned her voice seemed to be – as though she couldn't quite believe what had happened. "More than anything, I love you."

Erik murmured wordlessly, his hand moving from her hair to her cheek. Beneath her, his body stiffened when his thumb came away shining with moisture.

"Bella – are you crying?" He sounded horrified, and tried to sit up from beneath her. "Did I hurt you?"

"No!" She grabbed his shoulders and tried to hold him still. "No! These… they …"

"Bella – what's _wrong_?" he pleaded.

Slowly she lifted her head from his chest and smiled at him.

"After all the years I have spent hating myself for not being able to kiss you on the day I died… I _tried_ to, Erik, honestly I did… I can finally forgive myself… I am _happy_ , Erik. Christine might have given you your first kiss… but I have you your first kiss out of _love_. I gave you _my love_ … in all the ways I always knew you deserved."

Sighing, Erik slowly allowed his body to relax again.

"You … you worried me."

"I'm sorry."

There was a long moment of silence, and then suddenly his arms were around her and he pulled her into a hug that allowed him to nuzzle his face into her hair and neck. His hands stroked her back. Every nerve ending was still alive as she tried to embrace him in return – although she didn't want to pin her arms beneath him so it was more difficult. She settled for laying her forearms along the outside of his biceps, and clutching to his shoulders.

" _Gestena, mira vest'acha rani_."

* * *

 **Gestena, miria ves'tacha rani: (Romani) Thank you my beloved lady**


	22. Chapter 22

Erik placed a hand over the short walking stick tied at his waist, making sure the camouflaged sword cane was securely in place as he stepped out of the bitter cold night and into the warm glowing activity of the Opera House vestibule. Never had he imagined entering the Opera House like any other patron among a crowd of others. Yet, here he was, dressed in a costume of muddy brown and green colors that made one think of dark evil forests and cursed swamps. The mask – which he made certain was secure before handing a pair of legitimately purchased tickets over to the gentleman accepting them – was a somewhat darker, sootier brown that encompassed his head with small deer antlers protruding from either side. A fine cape hung from his shoulders, artfully frayed and worn at the edges as though constantly being caught by brambles and branches.

A gentle hand squeezed his arm, and he glanced down to see that Arabella's smile had turned just a little strained beneath the simple mask that covered the upper half of her face. She was glorious in a medieval-style gown with an enormous bell-sleeved shrug pinned to the deep sweetheart neckline of her bodice. The shrug itself was made of extremely fine white gauze, decorated with what looked to be thick scar-like cracks. These cracks were a design that continued on the bodice and skirt of her gown. Her gown was mostly extraordinarily pale blue that faded into white towards her hem, and seemed to reflect hints of palest purple and green in places. All suggested snow and winter, while the gauze of her shrug, along with another layer of gauze over her skirt and the texture of her mask, all suggested ice. Her dark hair – pulled back from either side of her face in a braid while the rest of her hair fell loose – was powdered so that she appeared frosted, and was crowned with a garland of silver and crystal. The exact same design formed a broach at her waist, where it gathered the gauze veiling her skirt into the appearance of a low-slung sash. The entire ensemble was decorated with sparkling crystals of a myriad of winter colors.

Not one single costume in the masquerade would compare to hers. Most people wanted to be beautiful, heroic, powerful, evil, or angelic. Rarely did someone dress up in a costume that could be ambiguous and open to interpretation. On a visual level, Arabella was a beautiful queen of winter. She was beautiful, cold, and made at least partially of hard ice. But, when someone paid attention, one could take notice of the cracks decorating her surface, and the powder over her skin and hair that suggested a gentle fall of snow. She was cold, hard, beautiful, deadly … and yet heartrendingly fragile.

"Are you nervous?" he asked quietly, guiding Arabella away from the doors and along the long beautiful entrance hall. "It is only a dance, _Mira Rani_."

Arabella glanced up at him, and even through the translucent mask and powder Erik could tell his newest nickname for her had made her blush. It astounded him that she could so easily blush – particularly after what they had shared. He never would have guessed how pleased he could make her by addressing her as his lady.

"I am just trying to remember all your etiquette lessons." She admitted almost sheepishly. "I would not want to embarrass you."

"Oh, please, my all means…" Erik chuckled. "Embarrass me. I am quite sure you'll manage to mortify the people around us even more. That would prove immensely entertaining."

"Erik…" Arabella smirked, shaking her head as she glanced around with greedy and excited eyes. "I asked for those lessons _because_ of tonight. I am not going to let myself slip up."

"I know you will not." he assured in a much gentler and reassuring voice. "Should we go through to the grand escaiier?"

"Not yet… I want to see if I can spot Nadir before he spots me."

"There are easier ways to do that.' Erik pointed out wryly. "Secret places to watch from…"

"That hardly seems fair." Arabella giggled. The sound carried through the room, since it had not truly begun to fill with people yet. Most revelers went straight through, which left the entry hall mostly open until the ball got into full swing.

"Well, who said I was fair?" Erik demanded. "Especially where Nadir was concerned? I haven't even paid him back for that cab yet."

"You haven't seen him since that morning." Arabella pointed out, far too reasonably.

"Well, my wife has been keeping me rather… preoccupied."

He loved to see her warm blush. The color rising into her cheeks always enhanced her beauty. Her lashes lowered shyly, veiling her eyes, and he reached up to gently stroke the lower and uncovered portion of her cheek with the back of his fingers. The very public display of affection snapped her attention right back to his in utter shock.

"Mind you … I'm not complaining." He all but purred. His tone of voice, of course, made her blush even _more_ warmly; and he grinned as he turned and gently put her arm back in the fold of his elbow. "There is a little room over here. We should be able to somewhat conceal ourselves and observe arrivals – at least until later. If Nadir arrives late, I make no guarantees."

They did stand and watch curiously. It allowed Erik to show his more critical side by commenting on costumes or skirts that revealed far too much ankle. Some people must have been drinking prior to arriving, because the behavior of many was almost instantly obnoxious or scandalous. It was far too easy for him to take glee in talking about those who had helped make his life such a misery for so many years. And, of course, the fact that most of the crowd was made up of fairly rich noblemen and women only made him even more scathing.

"Is that him?" Arabella finally pointed to a figure with traditional Persian robes and a full face mask that looked like a virtual blank slate … a featureless mask that was rather unsettling. The robes were black and gold, and not very spectacular. The figure also wore a strange triangular hat on his head that Erik recognized as a karakul.

"No." he murmured, shaking his head briskly. "He's dressed too poorly for a man of Nadir's rank. I suspect Nadir must be here, though. That is most likely Darius. It's difficult to tell with that mask, though."

"Are you saying Nadir is too ostentatious?"

"I am _saying_ that Nadir may be reasonably humble… but he still has his pride. He has royal blood and is related to the ambassador here in Paris. He isn't going to dress in materials only a servant could afford. Shall I let you keep guessing?"

"It shouldn't take much." Arabella shrugged. "If I just keep my eyes on Darius – or whoever he is – I'm bound to find him out."

"Indeed." Erik smiled proudly. "It is already getting warm in here. Shall I get you some champagne before or after the first waltz? That should be at any moment, by the way… I'd like to take you into the other room for that, if you don't object."

"I _am_ thirsty … but…why the other room?" Arabella momentarily forgot the crowd and looked up at him curiously.

"It probably has something to do with my sense of pride – in this place and my beautiful woman on my arm."

Erik squeezed her hand briefly, before slipping into the main room and making his way towards the refreshments. He could hear Arabella cursing softly behind him when she returned her attention to the thickening crowd and realized she had lost sight of the man that was possibly Darius. It made him chuckle.

* * *

Arabella was somewhat amazed at the change in Erik. Since their "wedding night", he had seemed to be so happy. Never had she imagined Erik being in such a relaxed state of contentment and happiness. She knew that his life still felt incomplete; he missed Christine even now, and living in a cellar beneath the Opera House feeling as though the world above was too dangerous for a man like him was bound to dampen his joy. But… over all … Erik seemed to be almost in a state of constant bliss.

She wished she could be a better lover. Their first night together, she had endured that one moment of fear that had come up out of the blue, and nearly frightened Erik away from her for good. She did not know exactly what had caused it, or what had made it dissipate so fast. But ever since that night, she had put together that – at the very least – whenever Erik loomed over her and made her feel restricted… the fear would bubble towards the surface. It was difficult to put this experience into words that put him at ease - especially since Erik was not naturally a man that could lie back and hand over control of any given situation. It was not easy for him to keep from getting a bit carried away … for him to restrain his very natural aggressive and controlling nature. But … so far they somehow managed. Their times together were not perfect … but to Arabella they were like wonderful dreams come true. And Erik never complained.

She had never imagined genuinely _wanting_ Erik … _**needing** _ him … or enjoying what they did together. But Erik was dedicated to mastering all he did in life… and that included all he did in a marriage. He always endeavored to make her as happy as she made him.

Her eyes scanned the very golden foyer of the Opera House as she waited for Erik's return. It was difficult for her thoughts to wander their intimate secret path when there were so many bright-colored and exotic distractions in front of her. There were so many costumes… and so many voices. She could hear the orchestra out by the grand escalier tuning up and playing a few warm-up refrains of _The Blue Danube_. The sound was too broken by missing instruments or bad notes for it to truly be the first waltz of the evening, and there was the ever constant blare of one instrument or another trying to correct it's tone.

She was ready to give up on the search for Nadir entirely when he walked through the doors. For an attendee at a masked ball, he was very poorly disguised. But, since he still wore exceedingly rich Persian garb like he'd once worn at the palace in Mazandaran, she supposed it was costume enough for the Parisian upper crust surrounding him. Even at his age, with thinning and gray hair, covered in wrinkles, he looked quite dignified in brilliant sapphire blue silks and golden velvet. A European prince would have been jealous at the sight of a man who carried his royal lineage so nobly. His mask was nothing but a golden strip across his eyes.

She was just beginning to step out of the room and approach him when a commotion behind him distracted the both of them. Nadir had yet to see her, and he turned in curiosity to witness the entrance of a beautiful young woman with her entourage surrounded by other guests of the ball. Apparently many people had been lingering on the stairs outside, and all been prompted by the arrival of one particular guest to finally enter. Arabella arched her neck, rising onto her toes to see what had Nadir so instantly interested.

It did not take long to realize the reason for the commotion.

Christine Daae looked radiant and beautiful, dressed in a shimmering gown with a royal blue bodice and midnight blue skirt. It had a long sheer cape that matched the shade of her skirt, and the entire ensemble was speckled with variations of silvery stars – with many sizes and shapes. The deep V of her waistline had the most obvious interpretations with a border of five pointed stars literally strung together. Even the exaggerated tiara on her head was made of silver and crystal stars. Dangling over the swell of her breasts was a silver necklace with a half-moon shaped pendant, which cradled a navy blue cut glass stone.

Arabella's breath caught in her throat as she watched Christine greet old cohorts from her days at the Opera.

 _ **What is**_ **she** _ **doing here?**_ Adnah's voice spoke in her mind for the first time all evening. Ever since his week away, he had rarely found reason to speak. He seemed to understand what had happened between her and Erik during his absence, and made a strange point out of telling her that he would no longer be in their house at night. He also promised he would never enter the bedroom under any circumstances.

It had embarrassed her to tell Erik this … knowing their intimacy was acknowledged by someone that had been so immoral in life. But … it was still reassuring to know that Adah's haunting presence was growing slightly less annoying and a little kinder the longer he was there. He still had many snide things to say at times; but in the moment Arabella saw Christine, he was somehow there as the voice she didn't dare use.

 _I don't know… I suppose she is here with the Comte? Or ... the Vicomte is back?_

 ** _I do not see Raoul. Or Philippe._**

 _Why is she with the_ _ **managers**_ _?_ Arabella wondered in response. _Adnah … where is Erik?_

 _ **I suppose he's trying to work his way back here by now. You should go and meet him part way. He's less likely to see her that way.**_

Arabella shook her head. If Christine was at the masquerade and already creating this kind of excitement, no doubt Erik would hear word of it before she found him. That would be more than enough to put him in a mood or bring him rushing to see for himself. Instead of listening to Adnah, she edged her way through the crowd until she reached Nadir – who by then had been pressed by the growing crowd much closer to her little hiding spot.

"Good evening, Daroga."

The Persian turned sharply, eyes wide behind the mask although he didn't seem afraid at all. I was clear she had simply managed to sneak up on him without even trying.

"Oh – good evening." He greeted, smiling sheepishly and offering a small polite bow. "Madame Bella. You look stunning!"

Arabella felt herself flushing slightly.

"Thank you, Nadir." She managed as she offered her gloved hand and he lifted it as though for a kiss. But he did not kiss it – he just held it up between them, laying his other hand over her knuckles in a kind of platonic caress that came across as fatherly. "Are you disguised as someone in particular?"

He scoffed.

"No. No I … am just another mask in the crowd. Obviously it's not a very good disguise."

"Neither is my costume… but no one in Paris knows me, so I don't need to keep completely hidden to be mysterious."

This had Nadir laughing.

"All too true, Madame… Now … where is that rogue husband of yours?"

Arabella glanced around at the mention of Erik.

"He went to get us champagne…" she explained a little weakly. "He should be back by now. Maybe something distracted him…"

"Well if he doesn't come back by the first waltz, I'm stealing that dance from him."

She laughed. She couldn't help it.

"That won't be necessary, Daroga."

They both turned sharply. Erik had managed to get around both of them without being seen, and come up from the complete opposite side of the room from where he'd left. He held up one glass of champagne for Arabella to take, cradling his own close to his body so he was less likely to get jostled.

"Now, how do you suppose you are going to drink that in this crowd?" Nadir demanded, examining Erik's helmet.

"Magic." Erik said flippantly, before sighing heavily and revealing that the bottom half of his helmet actually lifted completely free of the rest so that he could tuck the champagne glass underneath enough to take a sip. "If I want to eat anything, it's going to be a trial… but I had a good meal before we came."

" _You_ ate a good meal?" Nadir asked skeptically.

"My husband can eat." Arabella stated simply, pride in her eyes.

"Well, _my wife_ can cook." Erik countered with a slight lifting of his champagne as though toasting her. "You have had her food before, Nadir. Surely you know her meals are hard to resist."

"Well…" Nadir looked almost embarrassed.

"I was only just learning how to cook Parisian food." Arabella defended herself instantly. "I am much better at heavy foods like stew and sausage with biscuits and gravy."

"Your meal was perfectly _fine_." Nadir assured her. "I did not mean to imply you are a **_bad_ ** cook. I just thought Erik was _over_ praising you."

Clearly, all three of them were greatly enjoying the banter - each looking for a way to respond to the whatever was said by the other.

"Insulting a woman's cooking in front of her husband…" Erik murmured almost dangerously. "I've killed men for less, Daroga."

"Behave yourself, Erik." Arabella scolded with an indulgent smirk.

It took a moment to realize that – behind his mask – Erik was not really looking at them. His gaze had wondered over to Christine, and the throng that surrounded her.

It was strange how a girl with such a scandalously unappreciated reputation could walk into a high society function like the masked ball in such a state of grace. The upper echelons of society had despised her before she left the Opera – for daring to aim so high as to marry into their class. Since she had not yet married Raoul after all these months - was it possible they had softened towards her again, and could once more appreciate her for her charm and voice?

"Are you all right, Erik?" Arabella asked worriedly.

He forced his eyes away from Christine, his eyes smiling at her almost painfully.

"Of course, _ma belle_." He assured. "I just … got lost in thought for a moment."

"The first waltz should be starting any moment." Nadir pointed out; clearly trying to change the subject.

Arabella quickly finished off her champagne before handing her glass off to a man walking around with a tray of many such empty glasses. Erik did the same, clearing his throat before giving a small bow and offering his arm.

"Will you give me the honor of the first dance, _miri rani_?"

Arabella feigned shock, putting a hand up to her bosom.

"The honor would be entirely mine, _Monsieur Erlkong_."

Nadir was laughing at their antics as Erik escorted her from the room and towards the grand escalier.

"Are you truly all right?" Arabella murmured gently once they were out of the Daroga's hearing. "I'm not a fool, Erik. I know you saw Christine, and I saw you staring at her."

"I will be just fine, _ma belle_." Erik promised instantly. "I am sorry if my reaction made you feel awkward… It just… seeing her again took me off guard. I knew she was likely to come … I just had not sufficiently braced myself."

Arabella nodded thoughtfully as they took their places for the waltz. Her right hand squeezed his left one comfortingly.

"I am here, _miri ves'tacha_." She reminded him reassuringly. "And … you do not have to hide what you are feeling from me."

"I know that." Erik said a little defensively. "Why would I _hide_ _**anything**_ from you? You know me too well for that to work. It was just a moment of memory and … regret. But _you_ _are_ here. I _have_ you. I can feel regret and nostalgia without losing myself in it now. I could not have done that if you were not here…"

Arabella was not entirely convinced… but she did believe Erik when he said it was now _easier_. Perhaps Erik felt a lot more than he was willing to share; but he was also willing to put those feelings aside in order to enjoy the evening with her. His eyes were again smiling, having lost their momentary strain and sorrow. There was still a certain melancholy haunting them; but she didn't begrudge him that much. Part of him would always love and miss Christine… It was just something she had come to accept.

They were on their third dance when Erik again became distracted; and Arabella did not have to ask why. Christine was standing on the middle of the great staircase; obvious in her beautiful gown and the fact that everyone around her gave her a certain amount of respectful space. Even the managers of the Opera – who for some reason had nearly attached themselves to her side – stood at half an arms' length away. It was as though she walked with a bubble around her that made her more obvious than anyone else in the room.

"Erik … should we take a rest?" Arabella finally asked. "We could go to Box Five… order some food… close the curtain, and have some privacy."

"Are you tired already, my dancer?" Erik teased, snapping his eyes back to her face. "Or are you jealous that memories keep tugging at me tonight?"

"I could dance all night without dropping." She defended with a giggle. "But I do think you could use a respite from the overwhelming holy presence of Saint Christine."

"Oh, _ma belle_ , that is not fair!"

"Easy, _miri kom_." Arabella soothed. "I am only teasing."

Erik glanced around once more as they circled the room, watching as Christine listened politely to the constant exciting babbling of the managers. If Arabella hadn't also been peering closely, it would have been hard to realize the woman seemed bored out of her mind … and perhaps just a little sad. Arabella had yet to see her dance with anyone – and a lady would never approach a man for a dance.

 _ **If her fiancé was here, she would be dancing.**_ Adnah murmured. _**He must have quite a reputation if no one will dare approach her.**_

 _It could still be the Phantom everyone is afraid of…_

 _ **Unlikely. Your husband bought Box five legitimately for the evening. When has that**_ **ever** _**happened during the Phantom's reign of terror?**_

"All right, my dear." Erik finally conceded. "Box Five it is…"

As they walked - again arm in arm - Arabella leaned in close to Erik.

"I think I am very glad that we can lock ourselves in that box and shut the world outside of the curtain." she told him quietly. She was careful to make sure her voice would not travel. "Perhaps we might allow ourselves a bit of scandalous behavior."

Erik stiffened under her hand, clearing his throat nervously.

 ** _Are you telling me to leave you alone?_** Adnah demanded, apparently amused.

 _As a matter of fact, I am._

 ** _You are an insatiable little vixen._**

 _And you are a man-whore. What is your point?_

Adnah's scathing remarks - especially since he was so clearly teasing and not truly trying to hurt her feelings, had long since failed to touch her or ruffle her. She heard his laughter of acknowledgement seem to fade away as he allowed her and Erik to leave him behind.

"I..." Erik was still struggling for a response.

"Erik..." Arabella smiled at him with a raised eyebrow. "You yourself have remarked how many men and women with private boxes could shut themselves away for a romantic rendezvous."

"I do not know if I could call what they do _romantic_." Erik argued.

"You truly are an old man." Arabella pretended she was going to turn away. "You have absolutely no sense of mischief and adventure anymore."

Erik pulled on her so that she could not escape, turning her so that their faces were inches apart. He ignored the other party goers moving by them through the corridor.

"Is that a challenge?"

"Oh ... maybe..." She grinned at him. Then, planted her hands on his chest. "But first, we must eat. I am starving."


	23. Chapter 23

**A/N Thank you, E.M.K.81 for your continued support. And thanks to my reviewers for your constant support and feedback - as well as to those readers who chose to remain quiet.**

* * *

The boxes had all been arranged with small tables and chairs. Those who could afford them would spend the evening drinking champagne that would cost a working class individual a month to afford, and eating food just as expensive. Those who chose to would do as Arabella had suggested; and do all sorts of naughty things behind locked doors and drawn curtains.

He did not know just how serious she had been with her suggestion. She sat across from him at the little table, picking at the meal he had ordered them as though she didn't have a clue what it was. He could not make out her facial expression behind the mask, but she exuded disgust.

"Is something wrong?" he worried. "I thought you liked Sole."

"Honestly, Erik, the stew you make is the _only_ fish I like. You disguise that horrible smell and flavor with other things perfectly."

This made him lift his eyebrows behind the helmet he still wore. It was getting quite uncomfortable now, but he didn't dare remove it. He did not mind leaving the one small portion of it wide open – but he could not risk someone seeing him accidentally, even though it was highly unlikely in the locked and sequestered private box. The only place he felt safe being completely unmasked was in his home.

"Would you like me to order something else for you?" he asked. "You said you were starving."

"I thought I was." Sighing, Arabella gave up and pushed the plate away. She glanced towards the curtain keeping them from being seen by anyone else in the auditorium. "What a waste…"

" _Ma belle_ … I know you were only teasing me earlier. I do not expect any inappropriate behavior while we are here."

Her caramel eyes snapped up to meet his golden ones.

"No… I mean…" She flushed beneath her translucent mask. "I was not _teasing_. I _did_ _**mean**_ it."

Erik's eyes went round behind the partially open helmet mask.

"Did you?"

"Yes!" she stiffened as though insulted. "I am not a _tease_ , Erik. I do not make frivolous promises!"

"There was no promise made." Erik hurried to assure her. "It was a suggestion. If you meant it but are now second guessing yourself, I would never hold it against you."

"I…" Arabella glanced at the locked door of the box. "I have realized that Nadir might try to come and sit with us."

Erik shook his head, waving a hand dismissively.

"Distracted by … scandalous behavior… or not … we can ignore anything that happens around us if we wish." He stated simply. "Nadir will have to _finally_ learn to go away when he is not wanted."

He lowered his gaze finally, feeling heat suffuse his cheeks as she began to smile. For a long minute Arabella simply watched him eat; and he polished off his food even though he was not particularly hungry. He was all too aware of when she finally pushed her chair back and slowly rose to her feet. She took a moment to sip at her barely touched glass of ridiculously expensive champagne; but then deliberately placed it down and came around the table towards him.

"All this time, I thought that I would want nothing but to dance with you all night." She murmured. "Now I feel as though three songs have been nearly enough. "

"Have I made you feel like the center of the universe already?" Erik asked curiously, taking a sip of his own champagne in order to make sure his mouth did not go dry. He was not looking at her; but he could still see her from his peripheral vision. The look on her face was the kind of expression that always made him start to tremble with excitement and emotion. "Last time I managed that, you fainted in my arms."

"I do not need insignificant stars to move about me." Arabella gave one of her all-too familiar one-shouldered shrugs. " _You_ are the center of my universe, Erik … not a moon that circles me."

She was so close that he finally felt he had no choice but to turn and look directly at her once more. He could not help but stare as she placed one hand on the arm of his chair and lowered herself to her knees. He sat up straighter, sucking in a breath in preparation to scold her. One hand moved to cover hers; but she immediately bowed her head to caress his knuckles with her lips. It made him completely forget – for just a moment – that he had been planning to demand she get up.

It was such a simple action … a kiss to the back of the hand. But with Arabella kneeling before him and caressing his skin with her lips that way… he felt utterly distracted. It always amazed him just how alluring his wife could be. He doubted very much if she realized just how strongly she affected him doing something so generally innocent. These were not quick kisses; but it was not as though she were doing something many would consider disgusting – like, perhaps, _licking_ his skin.

He cleared his throat, shifting again.

"Bella… stop." He croaked. "Get up, _ma belle_. You know I hate to see you on-"

"-No." Arabella interrupted him firmly, but she smiled at him. Her voice was tender. "It is all right, Erik. I cannot do what I would like to if I stand up."

"You do not have to stand." Erik offered quickly, his entire body feeling as though it were on fire. "You could sit here in my lap…"

He was distracted by the sudden hush that fell over the auditorium beyond the curtain. His head tilted, and he was just reaching out to find out what was happening when the voice of the opera manager Firmin came from the area of the stage.

"Ladies and gentlemen!" he greeted – sounding as though he, himself, had already enoyed himself a little too much. "We are proud to announce tonight that we have finally found an appropriate new leading soprano for our stage!"

Groaning, Erik turned away with a loss of interest. In that moment, what Arabella was up to was far more entertaining. She still had not risen from her knees, but her hands were at the base of his thighs and inching their way up at such a slow pace that he knew he would likely explode from simple impatience if she kept it up. She smirked up at him, shaking her head slightly to show she completely understood his annoyance with the managers. Her hands paused on his thighs and he had to shift uncomfortably.

"I hope she's better than Carlotta." She murmured.

"You and I both, _ma belle_ …" he sighed. Firmin could simply have announced the new soprano. But, being how he was, he couldn't help but turn it into an overblown speech. "Now… as intriguing as I find your sense of adventure… I think I would much rather have you up here with me."

Arabella tilted her head at him curiously.

"Will you kiss me?" she asked; knowing he couldn't possibly do that without removing his helmet.

Erik hesitated. But then he took in a deep breath and nodded.

"Yes." He promised, reaching slowly up towards his covering. He was deeply unsettled with the idea of being unmasked in such a public area… but the curtain was closed and the box was locked. Surely he could endure a minute or two of exposing himself to the one woman who'd proven she could endure the sight of him.

"Wait." Arabella reached up and grabbed the elbow of his costume. "Erik … let me… please?"

This, at least, was nowhere near as difficult as it once would have been. Arabella had won his trust in a way no one ever had. Instantly he lowered his hand, placing both arms carefully on the arm rests of his seat so that she had plenty of room to maneuver around him. He watched as she slowly climbed from the floor to perch on his knees. He imagined it must be a very uncomfortable seat … but she made no complaint. Gently she reached up and simply slid the helmet off his skull before placing it on the table beside his plate.

It was so simply done. She was not fast about it – but she did not take her time trying to be slow or alluring in any way. He was not sure whether or not the simplicity took him off guard or made being unmasked easier. As the air cooled his overheated face, he closed his eyes and sighed in honest relief.

"Now you take mine."

His eyes snapped open again, and he stared at Arabella as she watched him. She looked utterly calm.

"What?" he demanded.

"Take my mask…"she repeated gently. "I want you to."

Sighing, Erik nodded and reached up to do as she said. Before he could take the mask, though, her hands caught his and gently pressed them to her cheeks. He was cupping her face in his hands, his thumbs close to her lower lip so he could caress it if he wanted to. Her eyes were closed, and it was clear that she wanted him to do something in particular… but didn't want to put it into words.

" _Ma belle_?"

She smiled softly, and simply just released his hands. She said nothing; did nothing to indicate what she wanted from him. He was left with only guesswork as to what to do … and he leaned forward so that their faces were only a few inches apart. Gently he lifted his palms from her cheeks and ran his fingertips along the edges of her mask … teasing… more like he was playing at the hem of her skirt than at the edges of a mask. He could tell that she liked that … and he smiled to himself a little smugly as he leaned even closer and pressed a kiss to the corner of her mouth.

Her arms wrapped around his shoulders, and he placed one hand quickly on the center of her back as his return embrace. As he followed his first kiss with another closer to her jawline, he finally pried the mask off with one hand and, very slowly, slid it off over the crown of her head. He was careful to keep from ruining her carefully fixed hair. As the air touched her skin, he heard her sigh in relief; and his smile broadened. He'd felt much the same – probably to a much greater degree – when she'd removed his helm.

"You promised to kiss me." Arabella accused in amusement as her hands slid to his shoulders to steady herself. Because he was leaning forward, she had a far more precarious position on his lap.

"That's what I'm doing…" he chuckled. "You will have to be more specific next time."  
There was a sudden applause out in the auditorium, and Erik lifted his head an inch out of sheer annoyance.

"That absolutely shatters the atmosphere." He grumbled.

Arabella laughed, reaching up to take his head in her hands and turn his face back towards her. In only a moment she was kissing him … and he gave in as the applause slowly dissipated to the strains of The Queen of the Night's aria from The Magic Flute. Erik groaned even through the kiss, momentarily considering that they should leave before his ears started to bleed. Rarely was an appropriate soprano cast in that role, and most wound up screeching their heads off during the nigh notes.

When the soprano on stage began to sing, however, his body sat up completely straight and his hands – which had worked their way to Arabella's waist in only a few seconds – froze. His head whipped around towards the curtains obscuring his view of the auditorium. Arabella tightened her grip on his shoulders, breathing somewhat heavily to catch her breath.

"What-"she began curiously.

"Shh!" Erik cut her off harshly, reaching out to part open the curtains an inch or two.

"Erik!"

" _Shh_!" he hissed, ignoring the warning in her voice and leaning almost out of his chair to peer out at the stage. "Oh my God… it's her… it's _her_!"

As his eyes grew round and his body grew entirely still, Arabella pushed her way off of his lap and stood so that she could look out as well. Her arms and hands shifted until it looked like she was clutching a robe around herself.

"Christine…?" she murmured in disbelief.

Erik took in a painful breath.

"Christine…" he agreed… although the name came out a sigh of both longing and relief.

The audience was completely silent as Christine sang her aria dressed in the absolutely beautiful masquerade costume. Her technique was absolutely flawless… just as he'd taught her… even if it was clear to his sensitive ears that she was somewhat out of practice. It was not that she had not been practicing during her absence – just that she did not sing as regularly as she once had.

He wondered how long she had been rehearsing in the Opera House. He had spent so little time in the actual building unless he needed to creep into the manager's office to purloin some money. He only stole small amounts lately – not wanting anyone to start up rumors of the Opera Ghost again. He also always left the door unlocked behind him so it would seem any staff member could be responsible. He didn't want anyone chasing him while he had Arabella to care for … and he had tried to keep his promise to let the Phantom stay dead by not snooping through papers while he was there.

Arabella put her warm hands on his shoulders and rubbed gently as he became all but totally lost in the voice of his beloved ingénue. All his tenderness towards Christine came back in a shameful flood. There was nothing he could do to stop or deny it. But overwhelming even that was his absolute pride over her return. He was ridiculously proud that she'd had the courage to return to the place he'd terrorized her. She'd come back bravely, and stronger than ever … and she had her entire audience eating from the palm of her hand.

No one was as entranced to hear her as he was. He stared at her mostly stationary form, listening as she let out rage and passion and hatred through music. Never had a Queen of the Night been so all-encompassing; and he doubted it was only due to his infatuation.

Arabella said nothing the entire performance. She simply stood behind him, holding his shoulders in support and listening to the performance. He could sense that she was uncomfortable – and who could blame her? But he could not take his eyes away from Christine in order to reassure her. He could not speak and disrupt the perfect sound that enveloped him.

All he could do was reach up with one hand to cover the fingers gently working at his shoulder muscles. He felt her go still beneath his touch, and squeezed her fingers gently.

He couldn't move… as though he were compelled to stay stone still. He could not speak, as if he'd been struck mute. But he could touch her hand, and prove to both of them that no matter how possessed he felt by Christine in that moment… he had just enough agency over himself to remember that he was not alone… that there was something else to fill the empty silence when the song was over.

It did not make the end of the song any easier on him. He was freely weeping when the audience erupted into unheard of applause and adulation. All had apparently forgiven Christine Daae for once aspiring to marry one of their own high-class bachelors. In that moment, they loved her as much as he himself did. But he could not stand and applaud as everyone else did. He could only stare through the two inches of open curtain, and watch her take her bows before walking serenely off of the stage. For a long moment he sat staring at the edge of the stage where she'd vanished into the wings. He held his breath and waited for the agony to overwhelm him.

The pain did come … but it was far quieter than he'd expected it to be. It was a stream instead of a tsunami; and was dripping warm wax instead of the very fires of hell. Taking in a tremulous breath, he leaned back to wipe impatiently at his eyes.

"She sounds even more lovely than I recalled." He admitted. "And she is more beautiful… Do you think adversity is what makes someone so much more beautiful in the end?"

Arabella hesitated as he turned to gaze up at her. She was watching him with a completely unreadable expression, her hands no longer on his shoulders and instead hovering in the air between them.

"I do not know." She admitted slowly. "Why would you say that?"

"Every day I watched you fight your life … you became stronger and more beautiful." He explained, reaching up to take her hands. "Can it be that what I did to her made her stronger? Made that strength beautify her?"

"I have no idea." She insisted, glancing away and blushing. "She… she is back in the Opera now…"

"Yes." He agreed, staring up at her. He could not deny the excitement this simple fact made him feel. But he also felt terribly guilty because of it. " _Ma belle_ … this changes _nothing_. She surely thinks that I am dead, or she would never have returned to the Opera at all! And because of you, I have learned to live without her!"

She gazed at him so intensely that he found it incredibly difficult to keep from squirming – breaking under her gaze. Finally, however, she squeezed his hands and offered a melancholy smile.

"I will hold you to that." she whispered, leaning down to press a gentle and chaste kiss to the side of his mouth. Erik reciprocated the action easily; always hungry for her affection. "Should we put our masks back on? Nadir is probably waiting for that dance I promised him ages ago."

Erik frowned.

"I thought you wanted to-"

"-Not anymore." She said simply; her voice deceptively serene. "I _did_ want to … but… not anymore. I'm afraid that aria has… spoiled my mood for such things. Perhaps later… at home…"

Sighing, Erik sagged and reached for his helm.

"All right…" he conceded. "Let us go and find that insufferable Daroga. I may as well repay his money while we are all here."

It did not take long to find Nadir. Considering the Daroga was nearly always standing alone at any public event, he was not interacting with anyone. He had no lover to flirt with – at least not that he would confess to – or dance with. He had no people other than Erik he felt close enough to for him to bother hunting them down for conversation. So when Arabella and Erik approached him, his face broke into another smile. He seemed completely unaware that something could have happened to change the demeanor of his friends.

"My wife claims that she owes you a dance." Erik said succinctly, glancing one around the room to be certain there were no … distractions… in sight. Then he offered some money to Nadir. "And I believe I owe you this."

Nadir looked somewhat taken aback, but pocketed the simple amount of money without counting it. His eyes scanned the room as if trying to make sure no one had witnessed the exchange – as though he were doing something wrong. Then, he smiled again at Arabella and offered her his hand.

"May I have this dance, Madame Sauveterre?"

"If you step on her toes and bruise her, Daroga, you may find my mood quite changed." Erik warned in a distracted but only playful threat. "Take care with your clumsy feet."

"Clumsy?" Nadir looked absolutely insulted. "I will show you clumsy!"

The Old Persian led Arabella out onto the floor and they began a quadrille. The dance immediately brought to Erik's mind his first ever festival with Arabella. Their first dance at that festival had been a quadrille. It had been the beginning of one of the most tumultuous nights of his life. First he had felt satisfaction at escorting such a lovely beauty to a part and out onto the dance floor. Then he had heard that she was with child … bearing her own fathers' bastard. Then he had been racing through the town searching for help from her self-inflicted knife wound; not able to understand whether it was attempted suicide or attempted abortion.

He was distracted from watching his wife and best – only – friend walk through a dance so sedate that both looked more amused by their bantering than the dance itself. He was hearing giggling off to his right, and he knew the laughter at once. He had been around the Opera House for too any years not to recognize the voice of young Meg Giry as she prattled on excitedly and a little drunkenly with the managers.

And, of course, where the managers were he understood Christine must surely be as well. They had been following her around like bodyguard buffoons since her entrance. In spite of how he did not want to be distracted by Christine anywhere outside of the auditorium during a performance… he could not help but take several rather obvious and clumsy glances in her direction. He was not really used to having to watch someone out in the open where others could observe his interest. Usually when that had happened in the past, he had not cared who saw him staring hatefully at the enemy he wanted desperately to murder.

But this was not Persia, and Christine was not his enemy.

He had promised never to interfere with her again… but he had also ever expected her to return to the Opera House of her own free will. And she looked so subdued as the managers tried to talk around her with others who joined the crowd at random It was insulting to her status as the Prima Donna that they would fawn over her so obviously without seeming to even speak directly to her. With Carlotta there had been indecent flirtation, fawning, and groveling. With Christine they just seemed content to let the audience share their praise to keep her in place.

And she was receiving plenty of praise. No one could pass without congratulating or adulating her. But the compliments seemed to pass right through her. He was astonished at how pensive and distant she seemed. No one was asking her to dance… no one was holding a true conversation with her – as though worshipping her voice was nothing more than some kind of duty. He hated to see her in such a state of glorious disgrace. She would need enormous amounts of help if she were ever going to win the true adoration of her audience ever again…

Erik shook himself, hard.

He could _not_ do that to Bella! He could not break his word to let Christine alone!

But… perhaps he could at least offer Christine a chance to dance?

This temptation nagged at him as he seized up a passing champagne glass on a tray. He did not know when the drinks had started being delivered to the revelers instead of waiting on a refreshment table, but this suited him just fine. He _needed_ something to drink. He had not been excessively excited by Arabella in Box Five; but he was still suffering a bit of disappointment that their fun had been derailed. Now he was only a few yards away from the … other … object of his desire. And it was killing him.

He didn't want to lure her below again. He did not want to make her love him, or to fall to his knees to confess his enduring love for her. This he was certain of.

But he still wanted to see her smile – _truly_ smile.

Cursing he discarded the still mostly filled goblet of alcohol and strode in Christine's direction. He was already reconsidering his foolishness before the managers saw his approach – but Christine had not failed to miss the costumed gentleman approaching her. Her eyes had snapped directly towards him – as though able to sense his presence and who he was. Or, perhaps since he was the first gentleman to come towards them unaccompanied by others, he had simply made her curious. It didn't matter. Christine had looked directly at him and all thoughts turning and racing back to Arabella for a dance left his mind.

He bowed elegantly, putting a fist to his heart, and then offered Christine his hand.

There was a beat as Christine, Meg, and the managers waited for him to say something.

When he did not, Christine took his offered hand and he led her out into the middle of the quadrille – perfectly aware that he passed directly beside Arabella and Nadir in the process. He was also aware that Meg and one of the managers had followed them – apparently deciding that Christine could not be permitted out of their reach. Erik wondered briefly if they had set a trap and were waiting for the Phantom to reveal himself to Christine…

But he was not an idiot. He was a great fool – yes – daring to approach Christine in a public venue and offering a dance. He was an even greater fool for doing this in front of his wife – who he loved so much. But he was _not_ an _idiot_. He had no intentions whatsoever of speaking a word to Christine and giving himself away. He had no intentions of following her, of offering any further dances, or of inserting himself into her actual life. No … he just wanted one dance with her in the hopes that her barely existent contentment would become full blown happiness. It did not have to be more than that… he wanted her to enjoy the ball in his kingdom… her kingdom…

 _Our kingdom…_ he thought helplessly before mentally shaking himself.

Apparently his silence was all that was necessary for Christine to find him curious and mysterious. She tilted her head at him as they danced, examining his frame and how carefully he stepped. She found herself smiling at him – and it was more than enough for Erik to almost lose concentration _and_ stop his heart.

He hated realizing in those moments that he was not over Christine. He had already known that … but the ease with which she consumed him filled him with sickly guilt.

He glanced around briefly, smiling inside his helm because he had made Christine smile… but he looked for Nadir and Arabella. They had been dancing moments before… he could not imagine them stopping just because he was dancing with Christine. This was the only dance he was going to afford Nadir before reclaiming his wife… so the old Daroga had best make the most of it.

Feeling such confusing possessiveness and drive nearly made him even sicker than his guilt at giving in to the need to address Christine in any manner.

Swallowing thickly, he took in a deep breath and concentrated on the dance. His hand squeezed Christine's briefly – and he thought she might have squeezed back, but that could have easily been his imagination. Neither of them spoke. It was enough to be dancing, even if Christine had no idea she was in the arms of her tormentor and angel of music.

The dance was over far too soon. Erik wanted to remain on the floor and offer her another… but he knew he had already risked too much with this singular dance. He bowed to Christine briefly, turned without any flourish whatsoever, and stalked off the dance floor into a side room. His eyes scanned the area the entire time – searching for Arabella.

He had given in to temptation… Just a little… but he had given in. He knew where choices like that could lead him. Now he needed Arabella. He needed his lady, his wife, his gypsy princess… He needed her to ground him and embrace him and promise him it was all right… to assure him that she understood… to keep him from turning around and running back to Christine!

But he would not do that. He forced discipline on himself. He would not turn back to Christine! He'd made her smile … and that would simply have to be enough! He would never go to see her in her dressing room. He would never leave her notes, or interfere with her life.

 _No... I will not do that to Bella. I will not!_


	24. Chapter 24

**A/N: Just a short chapter... I am having issues with continuing but I will post chapter 25 ASAP. Thank you for all your continued faith and support.**

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Arabella was quiet during their eventual return home. Erik had been more somber since the quadrille – and it was not hard to guess why. It was not as though it had been _possible_ to ignore seeing him out on the dance floor with Christine. He had cut one of the most imposing figures in the entire room – and had looked all too perfect as the dark and grim Erlking next to the beautiful but entirely fierce Queen of the Night. It was also obvious that they had not spoken a word. Compared to their strange and silent partnership, Arabella felt that she and Nadir had seemed outright obnoxious with their constant conversation as they tried to distract one another from the forbidden encounter occurring only a few yards away.

"Letting go has never been one of Erik's strong suits." Nadir had muttered to her. "That man can be more stubborn than a pack of mules… that includes his heart."

Arabella had smirked and turned away from the slightly painful vision.

"Is that your way of reassuring me that he will be just as stubborn when it comes to loving _me_?"

"I think it will be much _worse_ with you, Bella. You love _him **in return**_ … That is no small thing - and that will bind him to you as no other love ever could."

They had been promising words. But Arabella was still thoughtful as Erik found her a few minutes later and asked if she was ready to go home. He put on a good show about pretending absolutely nothing had happened during her dance with the Daroga – but they all knew better. There was a slightly guilty hunch to his shoulders and the way he could only look at her askance. Clearly he had not simply been standing on the sidelines and observing.

Nadir did not let Erik escape unscathed from his behavior. He gave Erik such a scowl that even Bella had trouble holding still and not squirming as the two men exchanged a fierce handshake of farewell. They glared into each other's eyes, staring each other down as though challenging each other for dominance. But, because Erik was already quiet and a little slouched, he soon broke eye contact and ripped his hand from Nadir's.

"You do not come over often enough." He admitted to Nadir in a low mumble, although he seemed to be attempting a tone of nonchalance and merriment. "You have an open invitation extended to you whenever you care to come and visit. Bella likes to see you from time to time."

This seemed to completely throw Nadir off track. He blinked at Erik hard several times, his mouth hanging just slightly agape. Arabella was a little surprised… but not entirely. She could tell Erik was only trying to deflect Nadir's outrage. She glanced briefly between the two men and suddenly felt the urge to smile. Quickly she put a gloved hand up to her mouth as though wiping something from the sides of her mouth.

"Good night, Daroga." Erik concluded, taking Arabella's hand and very gently folding it around the crook of his elbow.

"Good night…" Nadir replied almost weakly; glancing at Arabella and offering a polite little bow.

"You truly _are_ welcome whenever you please." Arabella assured. "Good evening, Daroga."

She and Erik remained quiet as they moved through the crowded areas of the Opera House. Even once they had found their way through Christine's mirror – so they would not have to go out into the cold again – Erik changed from offering Arabella his elbow to clasping her hand.

"You are furious with me." He guessed quietly as he led the way through the darkness until he could find where he often left a light source.

Arabella glanced up at the back of his head; unsure how to respond.

"You have every right to be." He admitted quickly. "I promised that I would not insert myself into Christine's life again; and I gave in to the temptation at the earliest opportunity. But I did not mean to _give in_ … in _that_ particular way, _ma belle_. I did not dance with her due to … _those_ feelings. She was my … pupil… and my friend… and I …"

"…and you love her." Arabella finished for him, swallowing a small lump in her throat. There was no judgement… just … regret.

"I saw her being talked over and ignored … and I wanted her to feel like she belonged in the Opera House where her career is about to launch her into the sky!" Erik explained desperately. "It isn't about romantic love … or lust. She was my _pupil_! I care about whether she lives happily or not while under the roof I built!"

"You did not build the Opera House." Arabella protested. "You _helped_ build it. It was not even your _design_ , Erik. And saying you want her to be happy while under this roof means that you want her to be happy outside of this masquerade. Not that I blame you … but you are offering yourself an excuse to insert yourself again."

"Bella – I assure you that –"

"-Don't, Erik." Arabella sighed. "I'm not _angry_ with you. Just … _don't_ promise me that you will have nothing more to do with her. Do not make me promises you cannot keep."

Erik whipped around to face her, bending forward as though to make sure she could see his eyes through the helm on his head. He put down the lantern he'd lot only moments or before and gripped both of her hands.

"Bella, I _swear_ -"

"- _Don't **promise**_!" she insisted, pulling her hands free without raising her voice. She isn't absolutely furious with him, so the action is not hard or rough. She simply resists his grip until he allows her to slip out from his grasp. "Just… _do it_. _Show_ me."

She edged past him slowly; not trying to avoid touching him but simply wanting to move on. She could not go far without leaving the light offered by his lantern, so it is not long before Erik has hurried to keep up.

"I'm sorry I hurt you." He whispered sincerely.

A pang wrenched her chest a little, and Arabella closed her eyes with a sigh before reaching behind her until his hand could take hers once more.

"I know that." she admitted. "Let's… let us just go home. That bit of drink has gone to my head and I could use a long sit down."

Erik squeezed her hand.

"May I sing for you?" he murmured.

Arabella paused, glancing at him over her shoulder with a tentative smile. She knew perfectly well he was attempting a peace offering. Although he sang often around her, that did not mean he offered to sing strictly for her pleasure. In fact ... he had not done that even for Christine. They were used to his voice simply being what it was ... when he was not using it as a manipulative tool. To be offered it as a gift was rather touching in it's meager way.

"I would like that." she admitted. "Do I get to select the music?"

"You say that as though I have terrible _taste_ in music." Erik chortled.

"Honestly, Erik … you and I have rather different opinions on what makes good Opera."

"I never said you had to agree with me on what makes good Opera." Erik protested. "It is not your fault I am better informed and thus that makes me a better judge of it. You must be the _only_ person I have ever known who is frightened by _Don Giovanni_!"

Arabella turned around and pushed lightly at his chest with a cry of feigned outrage. Again Erik chortled, catching one of her wrists with one hand. His thumb stroked across her skin in a brief feather-light caress that he seemed entirely unconscious of. She knew that he had been only teasing in his prideful way; but couldn't help her reaction. Sometimes his sense of musical superiority could annoy even her - and she knew he deserved to have that pride in himself.

"Oh!" he exclaimed. "You raise your hand to your husband?"

"My husband could _use_ a good thrashing." She laughed back. "Don Giovanni is _terrifying_!"

"If you say so…" Erik quickly released her and motioned ahead of them. "We are almost home, _mira kom_. Shall we?"

"I should make you sing _'Madamina, il catalogo_ _é_ _questo'_ for that." Arabella grumbles, but cannot help the chuckle that underlies it as she lets Erik continue pressing her forward.

Since he was the one to have brought up Don Giovanni, she might as well use an aria from that particular Opera. She knew the name of the aria because Erik had been using libretto's as part of her advancing reading and piano playing lessons.

" _Mira kom_ , you could order me to sing _Meyerbeer_ and I would perform it if you truly wanted me to. I could not guarantee, however, that it would not turn into a _comic_ performance."

"Well, I'll consider that as proper punishment next time you wound my pride."


	25. Chapter 25

**A/N: I would like to thank all my readers for their patience and support. Please keep the reviews coming. I know it's summer and you all have lovely things you'd rather be doing on such wonderful balmy days... I myself just came back from a week long acation. But I absolutely love feedback, as all of you know! Bit whether you review or not, your being here is very flattering!**

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Once at home, Erik had again allowed Arabella to remove his helm.

"Schubert." She said simply, making Erik lift an eyebrow at her.

"Truly?" he asked with amusement. "Schubert?"

"You said _anything_." She reminded him.

"Yes." He agreed. "But I thought you might pick something a bit more challenging."

"I _like_ Schubert." She insisted. "His music is so soothing."

Erik could not help but wince a little. Did that mean she did not find _his_ compositions soothing? He supposed not. His _Don Juan_ was far too violent on the ears, and his requiem was far too morose to be anything enjoyable. It was perfect for mourning; but that was all. _Phoenix Arise_ was seductive and passionate. It riled the blood instead of easing it.

And virtually nothing he had ever written came with accompanying lyrics. Even his Don Juan, with scenarios and names written into the margins, had no real words to it – except on occasion. The words were accents to the music that would never be heard… nothing more. It was not a story … not as an Opera or ballet would be… That Arabella's gypsy name was in it was the most he could boast about having anything particular in mind other than the mythic Don Juan himself.

He mentally shook himself free of this train of thought. That was the very _last_ piece of music he should let himself think about when Arabella was clearly seeking comfort of some kind.

"Schubert it is then." He agreed. "Do you have a song in mind?"

When Arabella shook her head, he took a moment to think. After a moment of pondering, he nodded and opened his mouth. He had considered starting off with the song that had inspired his costume for the night … but Bella clearly sought out something peaceful and soothing. A song about a boy who dies on the back of his fathers' horse – presumably murdered by some terrible demon - hardly constituted peace! That would likely be worse than playing his opus!

" _Thou art repose; and gentle pace."_ He began; his voice soft and sincere. _"All earthly woes where thou art, cease "_

Arabella had stepped up to him as he sang, reaching out to caress his cheek. It was gentle, soothing… and Erik found himself closing his eyes as he continued her song.

 _"Trouble shall flee, far from my soul. My heart, by thee, shall be made whole."_

Then … startlingly, Arabella slowly and gently begun on his costume – carefully folding and laying out each material of outer clothing on the couch as it was removed. It was difficult to concentrate on singing while his wife was carefully undressing him… even if she did nothing to be alluring in the process. Just the very act of being disrobed was enough to make his blood warm pleasantly in hopeful anticipation of what might come… and fulfilling her desire to hear Schubert was not at all easy. His voice kept quavering – although thankfully it remained on key.

 _"Thou heart's desire borne of rest; come nigh and nigher to this lone breast. My tented eyes, from gloom of night, see Paradise full of thy light."_

When the song was over; he stood in bare feet and underwear. She had been gentle and slow with her undressing of him – but it had proven quite efficient.

Arabella took a step back and spread out her arms; silently offering for him to undress _her_ in return. In her case, she had no choice but to be undressed. The fashion she had chosen to wear for the evening was nearly a death trap. Mostly it was only upper class women who wore such prisons – for they had the army of maids available to fasten all the clasps and ties. All Arabella had ... was Erik … and he feared ripping the luxurious material with his shaking fingers. But… how else was she to disrobe?

Besides… the glint in her eyes was far too inviting. It made him forget – for the moment, at least, any lingering thoughts of Christine. He turned her away from him with gentle insistency, brushing the hair away from her neck and shoulders so it could not get caught by a snaring hook, or pinched by a silk knot. He leaned close enough to make his breath fan her heated skin, and he felt her shudder slightly in response – only making his own state that much more unstable.

"Keep singing." She breathed when his clumsy and inexperienced hands had finally undone the uppermost clasps by her collar. It seemed she was not capable of speaking in anything more than a hushed whisper … as though doing so would somehow shatter the delicate atmosphere.

Erik took in a deep breath, his mind scrambling. Was he supposed to sing all night - and all Schubert? His concentration was superb… but not normally in this context! What even _was_ the context? Was Arabella being _seductive_? Or was she merely showing her love and affection? He trembled at the thought that he was about to make a mistake… She was, after all, undoubtedly still hurt by how drawn he'd been to Christine.

But he must not think of Christine! Not _now_! He still loved that woman, yes; but this was his beautiful gypsy princess! His Arabella! And it was _her_ he wanted now!

Erik leaned down and pressed a small kiss to the nape of her neck, his hands caressing down her upper arms from behind.

"Please?" Arabella encouraged in a soft, shaking voice. "Sing?"

Erik suddenly recalled a slightly more playful song. As his hands returned to their gentle actions to liberate her from her costume, he grinned and allowed the slightly less soothing song come forth in French rather than German – just as he had done the other song. He knew Arabella liked to understand the lyrics – although he thought it sometimes completely ruined a song to translate it and change the rhythm of how the words came out.

 _"You don't disturb us, oh night! See, we drink beneath the shrubbery; and a cool wind stirs and makes our wine refreshing!"_

He could sense Arabella's amused smile as he made fast and slightly less gentle work of the stays at her back so that he could reach up and hurriedly remove her crown. He wanted his hands buried in her hair. He wanted to push the dress forward off her shoulders and work on her underthings… but he held himself back. He would undress her only as she had undressed him … so that when he helped her arms out of her sleeves, he knelt to bring the dress to the floor and offered a hand so that she could step out of it in her incredibly pale, pearl purple pantalets and camisole.

" _Mother. Faithful darkness. Night! Confidante of our sweetest sorrows! You have cheated vigilance; by the kisses you've already hidden! You, alone, understand what pleasure intoxicates me; when I upon her beloved breast rest beneath dew and flowers."_

Arabella stepped cautiously from the circle of her costume and turned around to face him. The underthings she wore were barely enough to give her any form of modesty. Only a tiny flicker of water, and there would be nothing at all left to the imagination. He wondered briefly if she had chosen her underthings for that exact reason. After all, it was still winter outside. Why wouldn't she wear something warmer?

His heartbeat was fast and hard as he stood up and reached out to put his hands boldly on her waist.

 _"They murmur to her when all are asleep. Murmur gentle moving trees. In the effervescence of the imploring stream – I revel in lascivious dreams!"_

Arabella smiled at him. Her cheeks spread so much that it was nearly a heart-stopping grin.

"You are a wicked man." She accused playfully; just standing there and letting her hands fall to either side of her. "What is so gentle and soothing about _that_ song?"

"You said that Schubert writes soothing music." Erik defended himself. "You did not say I _had_ to choose a soothing song. Besides … it is not as though I sang a dirge or a jig, is it?"

Giggling, Arabella let him pull at her waist so that they were lightly pressed together at the hips.

"I suppose that is true." She admitted.

Erik leaned down to kiss her … for the first time rather certain he would not be able to lure her all the way into the bedroom before he lost control of himself. He wondered if the couch could be even remotely possible – for he still would not take her on the floor like an animal. She tasted of sweet champagne and honeysuckle – a scent and flavor that pervaded her every pore. Even her sweat made him think of the potent plant. He was addicted to the flavor of her … and as she gently wrapped her arms around him, one of his hands rose from her waist up to her face. He needed to gently hold her face in place, making sure that she would not dare break their kiss until he'd had his fill.

It was lucky for him that Arabella took just as long before deciding _she_ was done with _him_.

He took her gently but inexorably towards the fireplace, where he finally flopped down into his wing-back chair and pulled at her until she straddled his lap. Neither had yet removed another piece of clothing. But Erik was certain his clothes would begin smoldering soon if he was not careful. In that moment… he had forgotten a world even existed outside of his house.

There were no other people in creation. When he held his Arabella like this … even God did not exist. There were no ghosts, no divas, and no Persian police officers. There was no drug silently waiting to invite him back into its intoxicating embrace. All that _existed_ … all that _mattered_ … _was_ _her_.

*#*#*#*#*#

Later, Erik had found himself carrying Arabella's barely conscious body into the bedroom and covering her sweat-slicked body with the sheet. He didn't immediately pull up the heavier blankets that would keep her warm as the flat cooled. He just wanted to look down at her … see the shape of her beneath the white linen. She looks so peaceful. Her skin was glowing due to the after-effects of their lovemaking, and a little satisfied smile played at her lips as she curled into a ball on one side and reached for his side of the bed. He, of course, wasn't there… and it almost seemed to be out of punishment that she stole his pillow and hugged _that_ to her instead. It made him smile …

…and then the smile was gone. He could sense something off in the atmosphere of the house. It was not the atmosphere of a couple that had just made eager and vigorous love in their parlor. The afterglow was being dampened somehow… and he spun around to face the parlor and figure out exactly what was wrong.

"What have you done?"

He blinked hard, staring across the room to the doorway leading into his kitchen. He usually kept it closed … but … the door was wide open now. It was wide open, and someone was standing just outside of the light offered by the parlor fireplace. He could make out a vague silhouette … a woman in long skirts … with a pale face and pale hair.

Acid filled his mouth and the bottom of his stomach seemed to drop out of his body. His pulse began to race in pure horror. He was not frightened, exactly … but he _was_ filled with horror.

"Christine?" he whispered hoarsely; glancing briefly over his shoulder to see that Arabella was still lying in bed with her body curled contentedly around his pillow.

It was seeing her precious form through the cool sheet that suddenly reminded him that he wore absolutely _nothing_ – and he leaped into the bedroom to snatch up a robe and sling it around his body. As he struggled to shove his arms into uncooperative sleeves, Christine came across the parlor to step right into the room, glaring at Erik and down at Arabella with murderous rage.

"Who _is_ she? What have you _done_?"

"No – not in here!" he pleaded, reaching out with both hands before he could even think to tie the sash about his waist. His eyes darted again to Arabella as he tried to press Christine back out of the room while keeping his voice low. "Please, Christine! My dear – let her sleep! Please! Don't wake her!"

"Who _is_ she?" Christine demanded again, causing guilt to rake at his gut. Erik kept walking towards her, backing her into the parlor and reaching for the door knob to separate the two women. He was surprised that Arabella was so deeply asleep when she'd barely been more than dozing as he carried her into the bedroom.

"That…" he struggled to explain. "That is Arabella… That is … my wife!"

" _Wife_?" Christine echoed in disbelief. "You are _married_? All that manipulation and all those threats – all that _begging_ me to stay – and you are _**married**_?"

"I…"

Erik felt his mouth go dry as he leaned against the bedroom. He felt the blood leave his face as he stared at a glorious version of Christine he had never expected existed. She was amazing in her anger… even more beautiful than ever before. Were _all_ women beautiful in their rage?

"Yes… I am married… _now_. I was not married before. I would not have done that to you." After a moment, he caught himself. "I would not have done that to _her_!"

"How quickly you forget your love." Christine accused in a dangerous hiss.

"No – no I have forgotten _nothing_!" he defended himself desperately. "But … but you _left_ , Christine! Please, my dear, _understand_! You went off with your little Vicomte-"

"-You _sent_ me away with him!" she corrected. "You _sent me away_ with Raoul! And look how that has turned out! He has _abandoned_ me! I did not ask to be released – _did_ I? I asked you to spare him and that was all!"

She took in a deep breath.

"And what do you call this woman? Do you call _her_ 'my dear' as well?"

"No…" he whispered, dropping his eyes. "No. You are the only one I could ever call that, Christine. But please… whether you left or were sent away… you never came back! You went off with Raoul and you _never_ came back! Arabella found me… she nursed me back from a point close to death! She _stayed_! She _loved_ me! Was I supposed to let myself die because of you?"

He lifted his eyes slowly, his eyes pleading desperately for an explanation to her return and the reason for her rage. He knew perfectly well he _had been_ dying because of her. He had been _willing_ to die because of his heartache over losing her! He should not have to explain this to her, or beg her to understand his desperate grasp at continued survival when Arabella returned to him. She could never understand what it was like to be wanted and loved after a lifetime of loneliness and rejection!

And Christine had been _terrified_ of him. How could she come into his house now and be so _jealous_? She did not love him! She _never_ _**had**_! It was why his pain had been so great … because he'd known how much of his heart had been lost to a woman that barely cared whether he lived or died. He wanted to understand her sudden return and this change in character.

Was it Raoul? Was it being abandoned by her lover?

"Christine-"

But Christine was no longer in front of him. In just the blink of an eye, she was gone.

His eyes widened in surprise, and scanned the room as he tried to figure out where she could have gone so suddenly. He had not heard her take a single step… how had she just _vanished_? He had been looking right at her the entire time – his gaze taking in every inch of her dress from hem to waist. Why was she gone _now_? And _how_?

Air moved around him, and he spun to find he was not leaning against the door to the bedroom after all. He must not have closed it tight; for it was swinging slowly open… and Arabella was no longer on the bed. _Nothing_ but the bottom sheet was still there. The blankets, top sheet, and pillows had all been thrown haphazardly on the floor!

"Bella?" he called out, looking toward the water closet to see if she was using the toilet. The door stood open. "Bella, where _are_ you?"

He spun around again; his heart pounding painfully in his chest. The taste of copper was beginning to fill his mouth.

"Christine?" he demanded. "Where did you go?"

He stepped into the center of the room, breathing heavily enough that he was starting to feel lightheaded.

"We are in here, Erik…"

He followed the sound of Christine's voice into what had once been his bedroom. He barely stepped in there now – except that he'd been turning it slowly into a library so that there was more room to enjoy music in the parlor with Arabella. He could barely walk straight in his confusion and panic but he made it into the room and saw that his coffin bed was gone – as it rightfully should have been – and the torture chamber curtain was pulled away from the glass.

 _That_ was _**not**_ right. He'd taken special care since Arabella's return to damage the entrance to the torture chamber. The way Raoul and Nadir had entered was now _completely_ _**inaccessible**_ , and he had nailed the curtain into place so that it looked like nothing but a wall decorated with fabric. It should not have been opened so fast… so soundlessly.

And the torture chamber _definitely_ should not have been active! He's _disassembled the mechanism!_ But … there was the brilliant light that caused intolerable heat… There were the 'trees' that Joseph Bouquet had used to kill himself. And, in the middle, was sprawled his poor Arabella! She was naked as a babe, looking around in confusion and fear as she began to sweat profusely.

It was at that very moment Erik realized he was having another nightmare. It was the only explanation for how Christine had gotten below without setting off an alarm… how she and Arabella had moved around the flat so soundlessly … and how his torture chamber was in full working order.

But that did not matter to him. Nightmare or not; the very sight of Arabella in his torture chamber in yet _another_ nightmare was enough to make him feel very _**real**_ fear for her well-being. His eyes went enormously round; and he charged towards the one-way glass to begin pounding on it. He knew how to open the room – he even knew how to turn the temperature way down if he could not get in. But in that moment he was filled with too much panic to behave rationally.

"Bella!" he bellowed.

Her eyes jerked up in his direction. In this particular nightmare, it was clear she could not see him. The room was reacting as it ought to in reality. The one way glass was still one way glass. The room took time to heat drastically. True, Bella was already sweating and red… but anyone in any kind of heat could react that way. It did not mean she was … cooking.

Which meant that she had time before the heat would begin to affect her _too_ adversely.

"Erik!"

He saw Arabella's lips form the shape of his name as she crawled towards the mirror beside the one he stood before, and tried to claw her way to her feet. But she couldn't seem to stand. She glanced behind her, and Erik followed her gaze to see that something terrible had happened to her ankles. They were twisted drastically, swollen and bruised and bloody as though someone had taken a sledgehammer to her calves.

" _Bella_!" he bellowed again, sinking into a low crouch so that they were nearly on eye level. He shifted his body sideways, desperate to meet her gaze in spite of knowing she could not see him "Who _did_ _this_ to you?"

" _You_ did, of course."

He nearly yelped – having almost entirely forgotten that Christine was even part of this dream. He turned and fell against the glass as he stared up at Christine. She had let her hair down so that it spilled over her shoulders in a sheet of pure gold.

He had never seen her in such a state – not once during a single one of her visits… and it made her rage terrible. There had a cold and frightening smile on her face. It bordered on being the look of someone utterly mad.

Was that what _he_ had looked like _to her_ at times? What _was_ this? He understood that this was a nightmare; but he just didn't understand why he was _having_ it! All he'd done was _see_ Christine at the masquerade! He'd just seen her close up for a few short moments in order to satisfy himself that she was _well_! Why should he have to see Arabella in such _torment_? He would _never_ let her be _**hurt**_!

Christine took a few very slow steps along the length of ice cold fireplace in his former room – the fingers of one hand trailing idly along the white mantle. He found his eyes drawn to those shapely fingers, bile rising in his throat at the thought that she might trigger one of the buttons there. He recalled searching for that same button the last night Christine had been in his house. He had wanted to press it – to make the entire Opera House nothing but a hole in the ground and take well over three-hundred people with him in the process.

He could not let her touch that button! Not while Arabella had only just started her own life again! Not when he was sane enough to rationalize how terrible it would be to have that many lives on his conscience!

The dream was so real … unlike his last terrible nightmare. It was much too easy to feel utter confusion and panic over what was happening. The only strange thing was that Christine was there with that cold look on her face; her golden hair framing her face in a lions' mane.

"My poor, poor Erik." Christine crooned. " _You_ did this to her. She's not the one you want… and she _knows_ it. You want _me_ … _Don't_ you?"

So … this was how Christine had felt when he had kidnapped her that night. Erik fought down the urge to be violently ill. Dream or not, he thought he very well could have become sick in his sleep.

"So… why don't we just put the poor girls' suffering to an end?" Christine asked innocently, her eyebrows rising as she tilted her head at him in question.

"We have to get her out of there." He rasped desperately. "Please… Christine … my dear… _please_! _This_ _is not you!_ This-"

"-There is only one way to get her out." Christine cut across his pleas as though he hadn't even spoken. She moved closer to the edge of the mantelpiece with her hand, and Erik heard the distinctive sound of the button he'd hidden there.

 _Click._

He flinched violently in on himself, expecting the explosion to be brief but incredibly painful. He turned his body towards the glass of the torture chamber, planning one palm on it in a last attempt to reach Arabella even though it was not going to be visible to her. He prayed to God it would be quick for her…

But nothing happened. He thought when the explosion came he would be startled awake… he could escape the terrible scenario. But _nothing_ like that happened. He remained tense against the glass for a long moment until he realized the warmth of it was fading… and there was a strange rushing sound coming from within.

He opened his eyes to see what was happening, and then let out a sound of utter dismay was he saw the torture chamber was flooding with water. He'd designed the room to flood under the right circumstances – although it was honestly a very small miscalculation on his part. He'd only wanted to flood the chambers where the gunpowder had been stored if it came down to that. The torture chamber would only fill a foot or two…

At least… it was only _supposed_ to.

In the few moments he'd cowered against the glass, the chamber had filled over two feet and was swiftly reaching Arabella's chin.

Arabella… who could not _hope_ to swim with her legs so badly damaged.

"No!" he cried again, once more shoving himself to his feet. He whirled and finally remembered the chamber with all the mechanics in them. He ran for the opposite side of the room and flung open the door he'd hidden there. Christine had never known of its crammed existence… and he wondered briefly if perhaps Dream Christine had not sabotaged it because it had not crossed his mind since the day he dismantled it himself.

"No." Christine said coolly. "Let her die! It's the kindest thing you can do!"

The room was not quite normal. There seemed far too many complicated pipes, levers, and valves. But he knew his work well enough to bypass the confusion his dream tried to create.

"Christine…" Erik panted as he grabbed for the valve that should allow him to turn off the flooding mechanism. He could not hope to _reverse_ the situation until he'd first _halted_ it. "What is _wrong_ with you? You cannot suggest I _kill my wife!_ What has _happened_ to you?"

He could not help but speak to her as though she were real. Even in his dreams, Christine managed to demand absolute attention.

" _You_ happened to me." Christine said simply, stepping up into the tiny space of the room behind him. "I have learned from the greatest master, haven't I? Are you impressed with me?"

His stomach turned. She sounded far too much like the Khanum bitch that had tormented him in Persia! Part of him felt as though he could turn around, and the serpent of a royal woman would be standing there instead of his sweet and innocent Christine.

The valve was absolutely _refusing_ to budge under his normally strong grasp. It – along with all the other metal of the room – was rusted quite solidly into place. With so much rust suddenly appearing, movement should have been easy. Even as flakes of rust broke off everywhere and rained down on him like snow… it should have been easy to defeat his own mechanism and break the damned thing completely down!

"Damn it!" he swore, no longer caring that Christine was in his presence. She was not the _real_ Christine. "Why won't you-"

"-You need the key, Erik."

There _was_ no key. Not in _reality_. But since this was a nightmare, Erik turned to her at once.

Sure enough, she held up a key on a chain around her neck.

"Do you want it?" she asked with a playful and flirtatious smile on her lips. "Come and get it, Erik."

She held it out of his reach as he lunged forward, dancing backward with a giggle and then suddenly ripping the chain free. He watched as the frail golden chain slipped to the floor like a dead snake, and Christine shoved the tiny and improbably key down into the depths of her mouth.

"No!" he screamed, launching himself at her even as his eyes took a risky glance towards the torture chamber.

Arabella was half floating in water now, her one good leg scrambling to keep her head above water as her bare toes danced on the floor. The water bubbled everywhere around her, the source of the flood long submerged. She was trying to cry out, coughing and spluttering as her hands reached out in all directions for salvation. The water was tainted a brilliant pink with her blood as her wounds continued to bleed.

Cursing a foul Russian phrase, he reached out and seized Christine by her face, clawing his fingers at her tender and perfect lips to try and gain access to her mouth. For the first time ever, he was more than willing to see the flawless skin of her lovely face marred. He was desperate to do whatever it took to get Bella out of that torture chamber – and damn the consequences!

Nightmare or not … Arabella _could not die!_ Part of him felt superstitiously certain that if she died in his dream … he would wake in the morning with a cold corpse at his side. He could _not_ let that happen!

Christine kept her jaw clenched tightly sht for what felt like an eternity. Prying her teeth apart was damned near impossible… and it proved utterly futile when he forced her mouth open enough to see she had already swallowed the key that was quite small but still _never_ should have fit down her throat without choking her. She was absolutely giddy as he released her, throwing her away from him with a growl of despair and rage. He watched her wipe indolently at the face he'd managed to smear her own saliva over, giggling incessantly.

"What will it be, Erik?" she demanded. "Are you willing to cut me open from neck to groin to save your precious little wife? You can't hurt _me_! You _know_ you can't!"

The rage in him dissipated like smoke on the air, and his despair turned utterly black… yawning inside of him like an ever-growing black hole.

His eyes turned listlessly to the struggling gypsy girl in the torture chamber. Arabella had such fight in her … in spite of the water already being over her head, she was just barely managing to keep afloat… but soon … very soon … the water would reach the ceiling of the torture chamber and there would be no air to gasp for. And she already seemed so exhausted. She would be lucky to last even _that_ long.

She did not give up. She did not look for him. Her lips did not cry out any particular soundless word or name. She just kept trying to gasp in as much air as her weakening body would allow.

Setting his mouth in a firm and determined line, he stalked over to the desk that had long been a fixture of his room. He rolled back the scrolling top to reveal a small locked compartment. He spent no time searching for the key, but threw the desk across the room to watch the wood completely obliterate itself against the hard marble of his fireplace. The weak lock of the tiny compartment splintered and a gun fell out… a derringer.

He picked up the pistol, checked the chamber, turned towards the toture chamber – and fired at the panel farthest from Arabella's struggling form.

He heard the bullet ricochet – something completely impossible in reality. But apparently this nightmare was finally going to be more surreal than anything he'd ever endured. Because when his hand went limp and the pistol fell to the ground, he followed it to realize he was no longer in a wide open bathrobe and nothing else. He was in the robes of Azrael… the Angel of Death in Persian culture … the thing that he had posed as for so many terrible months in Mazandaran! He put a hand instantly into those robs and pulled out the Punjab Lasso. With only one flick of the wrist he had Christine in his noose, and jerked her forward.

Tears poured from his eyes and his teeth clenched as he knelt next to her weakly struggling body. She was not quite dead yet … but she would be soon.

"I'm so sorry…" he whispered, pulling the cat gut tighter. "My angel… my dear … Christine… I am so sorry!"

Glancing once more at Arabella as she began to sink – unable to find the strength to work her way up to the surface again – he waited for Christine to go still. Then, without removing the lasso from about her neck, he reached into another hidden pocket of his robe to pull out a four inch long blade…

He could not bring himself to look at what he was doing… He should look. He should pay attention. If he wasted his time cutting the wrong parts, Arabella would be well beyond any kind of salvation in less than three minutes. He knew exactly how long it took the average person to drown – and knew Arabella could not hope to beat the odds and defeat that tie. She just wasn't physically strong enough.

This nightmare was all too real… Everything felt far too real.

He saw Arabella reach for the surface one more time

Then he lowered his eyes only to the torso of the woman on the floor, and plunged the knife in to the hilt at the soft tissue of the stomach. There was a literal wave of blood that should not have been there … the color taking over every inch of his vision … washing his hands and arms in sticky red liquid… A scream echoed around him – seeming to come from everywhere and nowhere… going on and on and on …

He realized, as he awoke … that it was his own voice.


	26. Chapter 26

**A/N: I know it's getting longer between chapters. It's interesting how plans at the beginning of a story can change - and how the MIDDLE of the story ends up changing drastically as you think of different ideas while you go along. Then of course this summer I had my child at my shoulder EVERY MINUTE OF EVERY DAY! But yesterday the distractions were quiet and non-existent, and the creative dam affecting my ability to write this scene broke away. Floodgates have opened, and I sincerely hope no one will have to wait so long again!**

 **Unfortunately the editing is still going to be mostly poor. My keyboard is getting steadily worse and I cannot read large blocks of text to edit the way I would like. It would take me a year... I appreciate everyone's understanding. But I will STILL do my very personal best to minimize the problems.**

 **Love to everyone - especially. E.M.K.81 for her constant collaboration and support.**

* * *

She had been dozing happily across Erik's lap – her head pressed to his shoulder as the fire slowly died and the sweat cooled on her body. The temperature of the room was nearly uncomfortable; but not enough so that she wanted to move. The one thing in the world she loved more than anything else was being in Erik's arms … and she never took it for granted. Staying there in his lap – slightly uncomfortable but safe and wrapped in love – was far better than getting up long enough to reach for a blanket.

But her satisfied shallow dreaming was brought to a chaotic end when Erik's body suddenly jolted beneath her. His arms tightened around her, then flailed around so violently that he almost cuffed her on the side of the head. Her eyes flew open as Erik's thighs tightened into hard trunks beneath her, and he nearly stood upright with a scream. Arabella had to pull her head away from him to preserve her hearing as a cry that sounded literally _ripped_ from the bowels of his soul worked its way up his throat and through clenched teeth that finally parted to allow a wordless scream to peal through the room. Arabella grappled desperately for his shoulders – unable to wrap her legs around him for purchase but not wanting to fall onto the floor. For just a moment, Erik was like a bucking horse beneath her.

" _No_!" Erik yelled, his eyes now wide open but clearly not taking in the world around him. Arabella saw sweat pouring down his forehead and cheeks… wondering how she hadn't realized the sheen had been forming over his entire body while she lazed on top of him.

"Erik!" she protested, her nails digging accidentally into the skin of his neck as she sought to remain seated. "Erik, it's all right!"

He still wasn't quite seeing her; but it seemed he at least _heard_ her. Something in his eyes shifted, and his body slumped back to the chair as his body began to tremble violently. He did not scream again. He did not cry. He just shook and panted for breath as he stared around the room – taking everything in as his hands sought her out blindly. They found the small of her back first, pulling her in closer to him as he had in the hours before… slid up her back and to her upper arms before caressing down to her elbows and then along her hips. It was almost as though he were blind and could only identify her through his fingertips.

Seeing she wasn't about to be violently uprooted, Arabella released his shoulders. Erik did not flinch at the pain of her nails removing themselves from his skin. He had known torture … the pain she inflicted had been easily overlooked by his well-trained body. But _something_ had upset him, obviously… and she wondered what kind of mental torture could leave him shaking and screaming… Her hands caught at his face, framing it in her palms and trying to make him turn his eyes to her own as she leaned into his field of vision.

"Erik…" she pressed insistently.

At the sound of her voice, his hands on her hips tightened, his arms still affected by tremors much more like violent seizures than shivers of fear. He blinked once … then twice in rapid succession as he tried to focus his enormous pupils on her. They were so dilated that she could barely make out a thin line of golden iris around them.

"Erik, _miri ves'tacha_ … I'm here. What's wrong? What happened? Are you ill?"

Slowly, his eyes finally focused on her. His body – which barely moved now except for the constant trembling – seemed to calm. She wondered if he was so still because he sought control over the shaking. He seemed to be concentrating very hard on his body, as she could feel the muscles bunching and loosening almost in a wave of effort. His pupils retracted into a more reasonable size and he stared – finally – directly into her face. His hands rose up and clamped down hard – but not painfully – on her shoulders.

"Bella…" he rasped. "Bella… _are you all right?"_ he demanded. In spite of the sepulcher rasp of his voice, it was still somehow shrill. " _Are you hurt?"_

The sound of his voice made goose-flesh rise on her naked skin. She released one side of his face and instead placed it gently along his neck – her thumb brushing the ridge of his jawline.

"No, _miri kom_." She promised quickly. Seeing Erik so out of control in fear forced the blood in her body to run cold and fast. It was almost like a herd instinct … a panic of her own wanting to set in despite her knowledge that nothing bad has happened. Erik was _**not**_ the kind of man to become out of control with fear. To see him in such a state … it made her feel almost sick with dread. "I am here… I am fine. What happened, Erik? Was it a dream? You were sleeping…"

It was strange how her question made the trembling start in his body. Arabella's eyebrows rose almost into her hairline as Erik lost that little bit of physical control over himself again, a cloud of not-quite formed tears forming over his eyes.

"Yes…" he breathed. "Yes… the worst… oh _Mon Dieu_ … _ma belle…_ hold … h-hold me…"

" _Miri_ …" Arabella instantly placed one hand on the back of his head and began to draw him close – but the fear between them was making the temperature of the room feel all that much colder. She shivered briefly and decided that pulling him closer could wait just a few seconds. "Yes – yes I will. Just…"

She pressed away from him, straining to rise into a partial standing position so that she could reach a small blanket they habitually kept out on the back of the divan in case someone fell asleep there. It was much easier than hunting one down in one of the cupboards or wardrobes. Erik had gripped her by the hips again – although it was the furthest thing from an intimate gesture she'd yet experienced with him while both of them were nude. It was an act of pure desperation – as though he feared releasing her.

Luckily she didn't have to scold him for restraining her. She managed to grasp the blanket with her fingertips, and shook it out so that she could pull it around them as she reseated herself – this time on the arm of the chair. Erik kept a hand firmly on the small of her back as she arranged the blanket and then pulled him close so that his head rested against her bare breast. The other arm wrapped almost _too_ tightly around her. Sympathy washed away her fearful reaction to his wakening, and she stroked at his mostly bald scalp.

For a time she sat like that with him, just stroking his scalp and feeling his fingers stroke what flesh they could reach. It was the strangest way of being touched … as though he were continually trying to convince himself she was there – that she was well and whole. Arabella tried humming for a time – wanting to soothe him as he had so often soothed her. But after a time she cleared her throat and gave up. It was obvious she did not have the kind of voice to put Erik at ease.

"Do you want to tell me about the nightmare?" she asked gently. "Or … would you rather I distracted you? I'm sure I could think of something _much_ more pleasant to occupy your mind."

Her offer was more of a tease than a serious suggestion. They had both been quite satiated by the evening's intimate turn of events. She was still sore and throbbing in a pleasant sort of way … and no doubt Erik in his more advanced age needed at least several more hours of recuperation before he might feel tempted to lie with her again. He might be vigorous for an older man but … he was _still_ an older man.

"I cannot even entertain a mere thought of … that… just now…" Erik admitted with a croaking voice that attempted humor and failed miserably. " _Ma belle_ … you are perfect… Usually I want you every moment even when I do not … I mean…"

He did not lift his head from her breast, but she could imagine him blushing hotly.

"… but I cannot…" he continued more feebly. "I cannot … exorcise the images… _Mon Dieu_ … that nightmare…"

"It's all right." Arabella insisted gently. She pressed her lips to his scalp gently numerous times. "Tell me… make it go into the open air so it can leave you in peace …"

"You … you were … in the torture chamber…" Erik breathed – sounding like an incredibly small child that is so full of terror he can hardly confess what frightens him. "Your legs had been broken; and Christine… she was there…"

This did not much surprise Arabella. She knew he dreamed of Christine quite often. He murmured her name in his sleep … but she never told him. It would only make him feel guilt he had no control over… Considering her song - and his dance with her – at the masquerade… she'd have been surprised if he did _not_ dream of her.

"She said it was my fault…" he was so close to tears now that he was sobbing dryly. "To save you I … I had … to … to … _cut her open!"_

Grimacing, Arabella gave up on caressing him and just wrapped her arms as tightly as she dared around his shoulders. His own arms repositioned themselves and squeezed her waist like a suffocating corset – but she made no complaint.

"I do not understand." She admitted.

"She had swallowed the key…" he explained. "I know, there _is_ no key… But in the dream, there _was_. There was … and she had swallowed it. And to save you … I would have to open her stomach…"

Arabella shuddered, feeling ill at the gruesome idea. She did not want to ask what his decision had been. It should not have mattered to her. Most people had no control over what they dreamed or how they acted in them. But … Erik's dreams involving Christine could do absolutely nothing _but_ hurt her so soon after the masquerade.

"Oh … _ma belle_ … it was so real…" Erik moaned softly. "I had to choose between her life and yours. And I did it! _I cut her open_!"

Arabella's whole body jolted in surprise. She could not help it. But Erik did not seem to notice.

"It was _so_ _ **real**_! I don't want to see Christine again. I _couldn't_ … Not without thinking of that dream! And I … I need to … the torture chamber. I have to take it down! This is not the first nightmare I have had about it. I cannot leave it up any longer! It would just … it…"

Clearly he could not think of the right words to explain himself; although Arabella held him for quite some time patiently waiting.

"Erik…" she said slowly, although the words she was about to speak made her feel slightly ill. "…Your Christine would never be so evil. You know this. And she is your pupil… a truly brilliant singer…"

"No." he insisted. "I _cannot_ see her again! It is … the temptation … and the horror of that dream … It … is the last drug I have to purge myself of…"

"Erik…"

"She would never harm someone knowingly…" he acknowledged quickly. "Oh, _ma belle_ … the worst part was _not_ Christine! It was… I knew she was right! It was _my_ fault you were in that chamber… that your legs were _broken_! I had to have broken them… tossed you in there … so that I could … be with … oh …"

The horror of his thoughts made him heave. He sat up straight and lurched away from her to avoid being sick all over her … but nothing happened.

"I do not believe in omens…" he continued when he could speak again. "…but to have dreamed that I hurt you … destroyed your legs… my beautiful gypsy dancers' legs… obliterated _what you are_! I _broke_ you!"

Swallowing thickly, Arabella pushed the blanket down before taking his hand and leading it up and down her legs.

"I am all right." She told him firmly. "I am not hurt. You did _nothing_ to me."

His hands continued stroking her legs as he stared down at them. There was no hint of desire in his gaze. He did not seem to believe what he saw and felt. Arabella sighed. She would have suggested going to bed with him and getting more sleep; but he was clearly much too disturbed to sleep. She would not go to bed on her own when he so clearly needed her.

"Shall I make you some tea?" she asked, tilting her head and forcing amusement into her voice. "I promise to not overwhelm it with sugar."

"No sugar…" Erik's response was immediate – but he did not smile at her inside joke. "Just … the tea to settle my stomach… I feel ill…"

"With that on your mind, I am not at all surprised." She admitted. Slowly she stood up and walked into the bedroom to fetch them both robes. She put her own on before returning to Erik in his chair and handed it to him. He did not move to put it on immediately – merely held it crumpled in his lap. "Perhaps you should play. It always helps you make order of the chaos…"

"Yes…" he admitted listlessly. He did not sound eager, though. "…My hands… they're still shaking. I couldn't hold the violin…"

"There is always the piano – or the organ."

"No… not the organ." He objected quickly. But he made no explanation, and after a moment Arabella left him to start the tea. She would have made him something to eat; but she doubted very much if he was capable of choking down any food at that time.

When she returned he was in his robe and sitting at the piano … but he was not playing. His hands were not even on the keys. Gently she put the saucer and cup on the top of the unopened piano. Clearly he had not truly intended to play, or the large top would have been propped open.

"What is wrong, _miri ves'tacha_?"

"I think … I think my fingers are still too stiff from sleeping." He answered lamely.

He had never actually _lied_ to her before. It was so obvious … but … she decided this was an _unimportant_ lie. He was still partially in the grip of that horrible nightmare – he had to be. Seeing him so tormented by his own thoughts was a kind of agony she felt helpless to soothe. As it turned out, though, Erik himself could not bear that he'd told her even an _insignificant_ lie.

"I cannot play now. I … I am scared – no - _I don't know_ …"

Arabella moved behind him and placed her hands on his shoulders. He was iron-hard … and she began to knead at the muscles. It took most of her strength to try and relax him.

"Do you remember what you always tell me when I have a particularly terrible dream?" she asked. "Concentrate on here … on facts…"

"The fact … is that I still have feelings for Christine." He breathed. "In my nightmare, I hurt you to be with her … and then I killed her to save you! I understood what it was like to be Christine … having to _choose_ – even though she never loved me and her choice was not the same kind!"

He turned and looked up at her.

"My feelings are not as strong for her as they once were. But I know how much they hurt you. In my dream I broke your legs… My beautiful dancer's legs…"

His hands lifted and parted the front of her robe below her waist. He was not looking down at her … this was not an attempt at seduction. His hands found her thighs and he stroked them. In spite of his touch not meaning to be seductive, Arabella still felt a gentle wave of excitement course through her … her skin tingled … but she said and did nothing. She endured the slight teasing in order to let him convince himself she was all right.

"You cannot dance without your legs." He whispered. "I broke you … I broke who and what you are… and I _will not_ do that in reality! I … I have to take the chamber apart so no one can ever … so that it cannot be used as a weapon. And I … I have to stop thinking about her. I have to … stay away. For myself … and for you…"

Arabella took in a slow, deep breath.

"I know how you feel, Erik." She murmured. "You remind me every single day how you feel … But you would never do something like that to me. You would never hurt me that way."

" _That_ way … no…" he agreed. "But I do hurt you – don't I? Bella… I know I cannot tear out my feelings. But I _can_ refuse to give into the temptation of seeing her again. I _can do_ _**that**_ much…"

Slowly, he dropped his hands and stood up – his body almost coming into complete contact with hers until she took a half step back.

"Would you like to help me tear that horrible thing down?" he asked.

Wordlessly, Arabella nodded.

"Good. First I have to turn off the gas heater … seal it… Then we can begin to dismantle the chamber…"

While he did that … she quickly put on a simple house dress. Then she met him in the room that should have become a library. He looked to her curiously, holding a tool in one hand and silently asking if she was certain she wanted to help him do this. She managed a smile.

"Let us tear down this thing that frightens you so much." She offered, holding her hand out for the tool.

Erik chuckled bitterly, shaking his head at her hand and motioning for her to stand nearby. He had already brought a stepladder into the chamber, and he climbed it so that he could begin his work.

"I have far too many of those…" he muttered. "I do not even know where to start… but … I suppose the chamber is the closest thing right now…"

He began at the top of one mirror.

"Bella…" he began slowly after a moment, slightly grunting as he lowered his arms after several minutes of struggling with the screws high up over his head. "…Do you know that in spite of everything, I still dream? Finally getting rid of this … abomination … it makes me realize that I _do_ still dream! I dream of … a normal house … a normal life… a normal wife…"

Arabella flinched slightly; but he was not looking at her and did not notice.

"Just a normal and boring life. Would … would you help me with that?"

Arabella thought he meant that he was making his dream come true by getting rid of this last vestige of his terrible past. But she decided to humor him – and to distract him from his lingering darker thoughts.

"Of course. What do you consider a normal house?" she asked curiously.

"A normal house…" he began, taking a moment to catch his breath. Holding ones arms over their head in such a strenuous way could be a bit suffocating… and Erik would tire a little faster than someone about her own age. "… Like the ones I built in Belgium. The first few I actually … I built them for myself. You know? But there … there was always something missing."

He turned back to the first mirror, looking over his little bit of work so far.

"Can you hold this up while I unscrew the bottom? I don't want it falling on my head!"

Chuckling, Arabella gripped it the best she could. Erik knelt and began to work again, keeping his head bowed.

"I was never satisfied in the houses I built. Now … now I realize it was no technical failure that disturbed me. It was something that had nothing to do with the architecture! The houses were built for more than a bachelor living all on his own! They … they were built for families…"

He stood to take the mirror out of her hands and laid it gently on the ground several feet away. He only dared glance at her briefly before going back to work on the top of the next mirror.

"I could not love my houses because they were not meant for me, alone. With a wife, I doubt I would care at all about those houses… any failing in the design wouldn't matter…"

Arabella thought for a long moment, watching as his eyes brightened slightly as he spoke. He was finally dismissing his nightmare … firmly grasping reality by losing himself in fantastic dreams.

"Would you build us a house?" she asked curiously; willing to play the game with him. "A comfortable house with a solarium and small room meant only for _our_ music?"

"The solarium would have to be on the southeast side…" he mused thoughtfully. It was as though he could already see a design in his mind – and it slowed down his work on the torture chamber. "Then it would be certain to get the most sunlight possible… And a music room … yes … one with a dance floor…"

Arabella finally smiled fully at the thought of a room just for her to dance in while Erik played his violin. She could just imagine the polished mahogany floor… the wainscoting … the gold and glass chandelier… There would be red velvet curtains to make it feel almost like a stage…

Her fantasy caught hold of her immediately; but she tried to control it. She reminded herself she was just trying to help Erik forget his nightmare. This was in no way an actual plan for some future house.

"I don't want to build our house in Paris." Erik stated abruptly. "It would be too … but … But a smaller town! A small city with a theater, and a few building enterprises so that I could find work. Somewhere no one knows us … where we could start a completely new life…"

As she took hold of this second mirror and watched Erik kneel; Arabella could not help but gape down at the top of his head. She wondered how long these flights of fancy would go on, and how extreme they would get. It made her feel excited … but her very excitement was not a good thing. She could not let herself dream the way Erik could. When she dreamed, she wanted it to happen. Erik's dreams had always been a coping mechanism to survive the harsh life heaped upon him. Unlike her … he did not have expectations of his castles in the air turning to stone on the ground.

"I like the thought of that." she admitted. "I could try to be your proper _gaje_ wife in a proper _gaje_ home…"

Erik smiled distantly. He did not seem to notice or care that his robe – since he had never dressed – would hang open or bunch up in obtrusive places at times.

"I like the idea of coming home to my wife after a day working on one building site or another." He admitted freely. "Coming home in Belgium or above in Paris was always so … unpleasant. The house was always cold. There was never a meal ready and I was usually too tired to make one. I could not go to a shop for food because they would all be closed by that time… All I had waiting for me was housework and a pile of dirty laundry. Other men returned home to a warm house and a cooked hot meal. Even the lowest worker had a wife to greet him… I just had a dirty and empty cold house."

Arabella had opened her mouth to tell him that was all in the past. She didn't want him dwelling on his past unhappiness. But he didn't really seem to be melancholy. He was still smiling softly. To anyone else that smile would look ghastly. To her … it looked exactly like what it was. Especially when he paused to meet her gaze and his golden eyes shone brilliantly at her.

"The idea of coming home to find you waiting for me … so that we could spend the evening together looking into the flames of our fireplace… I like that. It is something I would love."

"I dreamed of a life like that once." She admitted. "Before … in the doctor's house…"

She winced; expecting the memory of what she'd done to herself to make Erik upset again. Instead, he just smiled even more for a moment.

"That was when _I_ dared to dream of having a real and normal family." He stated. "Having someone to love … who loved me. When you accepted my proposal… I dreamed of having a family – even a child – that would love me … whom I would protect and love. I had always wanted a wife – even as a child. For years and years … every time I imagined my wife … I saw you in my mind…"

For the first time in a very long time, Arabella felt shame over her actions fill her. She remembered that day as if it had only just occurred. She could recall Erik coming into the crude operating room and how bleary the medication had made her brain feel. Her thoughts had been like wisps of smoke… But she recalled his proposal… she recalled the guilt of almost taking something away from Erik in a moment of panic. She remembered waking up to Erik's face – unmasked only for her for the very first time – and she remembered the ring on her finger.

She glanced down at her special, rose-gold ring with its real citrine and false rubies.

"You know … it was when you carried me through that doctor's house that I realized how much I dreamed of being your wife." She breathed. "I did not think I could ever be a truly proper _gaje_ wife… but I _wanted_ to be. I wanted to _try_ …"

As Erik continued working with her limited assistance, she laughed in embarrassment.

"It was not until I felt the softness of the bed under my body that I truly made up my mind! Is that not the most ridiculousand _selfish_ reason beyond belief? I knew that I loved you … that it was utterly and irreversibly real… But somehow I didn't really know how to feel it even until after we lost the baby. So I made my already mostly decided choice because of something as foolish as the softness of a _gaje_ mattress! And then when I woke up … when you nearly _insisted_ I marry you … that I did not just _know_ you loved me … but I _felt_ loved. I know _bunica_ loved me… that you loved me… But until that moment I had never quite … managed to _feel_ loved… I was just too afraid to let love in as more than a fact… like knowing my hair color…. Letting myself truly feel for you in return took even longer!"

Erik slowly stopped working, leaning his arms on the stepladder in order to look down at her in amused curiosity as she shook her head.

"I _knew_ _ **I**_ loved _you_. But I don't think I _understood_ it … how _deep_ it ran … until I saw how you reacted to losing me. God … I hated seeing you suffer so much! Now … I want the life you speak of more than anything! But this time I … I don't want it for all those ridiculous material reasons. I just want to see your dreams made flesh…"

Erik slowly stepped down onto the floor and stepped towards her.

"You were not selfish." He told her quietly. "You were just … desperate. I understand that. And as cruel as it sounds… what you were suffering made it easier for me at the time. Knowing I wasn't alone in my pain ... that we could both somehow find a sense of happiness and peace with each other … I am not surprised at all by what you've just told me…"

He reached up, gently brushing his fingertips briefly down her cheek. Then he smiled and turned back to the latest mirror that had his attention.

"How does Trieste sound? In Austria?" he asked abruptly. "We can go anywhere you choose. It is entirely up to you. There are only a few places I cannot go: Persia, of course. Then there is India, Afghanistan, and Turkey. Beyond those four places, the world is ours!"

Arabella blinked up at Erik in shock.

"You say that as though we were really going to leave Paris." She said in disbelief.

Erik barked out a short laugh in response.

"We _are_." He stated. "I cannot … Paris… I have to leave Paris, _ma belle_. I _have_ to. If I do not leave Paris soon … I know I will not be able to hold to the letter of my promises. I know myself, _ma belle_. I need to get as far away from this Opera House - as far from _her_ \- as I can. I may as well be honest about that!"

Arabella stared up at him … not knowing what to say.

"You said you were too frightened to start a new life up there…" she breathed.

"I am more accustomed to having you at my side now…" he admitted. "With you I am not half so afraid of _anything_. I am ready, Bella. I would rather risk failure than stay here knowing that every single day I might hurt you more somehow. The further I am from Christine … the better it will be. The more I can move on from that …"

He frowned as he lay down the latest mirror on top of the others as he thought of something.

"I mean it, Bella." He insisted, turning to her again. "I want to … work again. I want to come home every night to my sweet gypsy dancer. All I sincerely ask is that we live in a small town where we can have the modern amenities and luxuries I am now so used to … running water, a chance for electricity … you know… I want to be close to a city with an Opera – or at least a Theater with more than trashy vaudeville and burlesque shows!"

Warmth filled her as Arabella found herself grinning, reaching up to frame his face in her hands.

"Erik … that kind of endeavor is going to take so much money!"

"Do you really think I have been spending an _entire_ 20,000 francs a month all this time?" he laughed almost giddily. "And of course, there are the smaller thefts I have committed through the years! That adds up after a time, ma belle! I have more than enough money to outright buy you the very house of your dreams – if it exists! I can replace every single thing in this house! It is not necessary, I realize, but I _could_! Please … tell me where you want to go."

Arabella bit her lower lip, beginning to gnaw on it thoughtfully.

"Is Trieste … is it beautiful? Is there a great deal of nearby nature and wilderness?"

"Honestly…" Erik shifted uncomfortably in embarrassment. "I have only heard of the place. I have not actually been to the city. But wherever we went, _ma belle_ , I would take you to the countryside any day that you needed – work permitting, of course!"

The thought of having to schedule holiday with his own wife due to work had him suddenly laughing again, and he actually needed to sit down until he could make himself stop. He seemed giddy. Arabella watched him, still grinning even though she was feeling a very confusing combination of hope, joy, and worry.

"Then … then I do not need other options." She promised. "We go to Trieste, if you want that. And … because we will be leaving … it is only fair we attend this Opera … while we still can. You know nothing will ever hold a candle to its current company …"

Erik sobered almost instantly. He glared at her – but it was an amused kind of glare.

"You wish to test me?" he asked. "You wish to _tempt_ me?"

"No." she replied – with absolute honesty. "That is not what I am trying to do. Erik … planning and getting ready will take time. And I want you to be able to finally glory in what you helped to bring to this place… You should have a chance to enjoy Christine's success. We will only attend the Operas. We will not go every night – of course. But … we will go see each new production until we leave … so you can have those memories. Memories not tainted by your jealousy or regret or … darkness. You can just take joy in your pupil's success. Christine _is_ a great singer. I would never deny that."

"I will do that … if it important to you." Erik looked doubtful. But at the same time she could see the desire in his eyes to do exactly as she suggested. "…Even if it is only a test to see if I can truly give her up in that way."

"It is _not_." She insisted.

"Perhaps you do not think so." Erik sighed. "Come … sit with me, _ma belle_ … I think the rest of this chamber will have to wait until later this afternoon. It is much easier to take it down than it was to assemble – but I am some fifteen years older than I was when I put it together!"

She sat with him on the couch that had long since replaced his black one … resting her head on his shoulder and burrowing her hand into the aperture of his robe so that she can feel his heartbeat against her palm. Erik draped his arm around her shoulders, stroking her loose hair – careful to avoid snagging them in knots. For a long time they sat in easy quiet – although it was clear Erik's thoughts were not quite easy.

"Do you really want me to see her perform?" he finally whispered. "Bella… I cannot guarantee my reaction to such a thing…"

"It will be something good to carry with you." She admitted. "I do not want your last memories of her to be swamped with jealousy and pain. I want you to have happy memories of the girl _you_ made into a prima donna performing on the stage _you_ helped to build. So long as we only attend performances … as long as you can resist going to the mirror-"

"-I am not even _tempted_ to do such a thing!" Erik denied vehemently … which made Arabella slightly uneasy. It felt like he was far too defensive… as though this were a lie he wished to hide.

"Then we will have good memories of marveling at her triumphs together … and then we will put this chapter of your life behind … and start a new one of our own."


	27. Chapter 27

The idea of leaving France soon managed to take over nearly every single one of Erik's thoughts.

It had not been idle chit-chat to talk of leaving and moving to Trieste. He had meant it when he told Arabella he felt he could live a new life outside of the house beyond the lake. He wanted away from the place of his self-imposed exile. He wanted away from any and all temptations of Christine. He knew himself to be weak when it came to the soprano, after all, and he deeply loved his wife; so why stay where temptation taunted him on a daily basis?

Arabella also had not been making idle decisions. She was adamant that while they slowly prepared for the move, they attend opera's when Christine performed. Erik was almost certain this would prove disastrous in so many ways – even if he did manage to avoid making any direct contact with her again.

How was he supposed to be his own personal Angel of Music behind him when she was there – night after night – on the stage he had helped to build? He didn't know … but hearing her sing certainly brought him a joy that Arabella had been absolutely right about. It was enough to overshadow … everything else he wanted to deny existed. It didn't wipe away what other emotions he still suffered… but those began to not matter anymore.

He sent away for information about Trieste. He wanted to know what enterprises existed there; what competition would exist for him if he went to start a new architectural business of any kind. Perhaps there would simply be too much competition… and he would need to select a different area of expertise. There was always stone masonry … technical drafting… Being a lead architect – although preferable – was not absolutely necessary. It would mean a poorer income than he would like … but they could exist like that for a time.

While they waited for the information, Erik began to very slowly and inexorably shut up the house beyond the lake. He went passage by passage and trap by trap. In the Opera House itself, he blocked off Christine's mirror first… making it so that there truly was nothing but a wall behind it on a day the Opera was closed for a thorough monthly cleaning. Certain paths would remain open until the days before they left – so they could come and go more easily. But all of the traps were dismantled – all but those closest to the actual catacombs. After all; people were always living in or getting lost in the labyrinthine crypt beneath the city. He could not risk someone accidentally coming upon his home while he still resided there with his wife.

He surprised Arabella on the day he decided to gather all of Christine's items – including anything left lying about that might remind him of her by accident – and wall it away with the rest of his shrine. Even that must be sealed – yes. It was something he'd spoken of, but had yet to actually attempt doing. He was terrified of the emotion that might overwhelm him … But Arabella helped him. She stayed by his side the entire time, handing him items as he requested them with the utmost reverence. She respected what feelings he had left of the soprano… and when it was over he pulled her into his arms and kissed her.

"Bella…" he murmured against her mouth; although it was a simple and halfway chaste kiss. His forehead pressed lightly into hers just so he could enjoy the physical contact. "…We should have a holiday I the country before leaving France…"

"What?" she laughed, surprised by this suggestion. "What do you mean, a holiday? We have nothing to do but spend time with each other every single day."

"Yes… but not out of doors and in the sunlight." He explained. "And, once we are in Trieste I suspect a great deal of my time will be taken up by whatever employment I might find or make for myself - for a long while at least. We will not be able to take holiday for some time… and I am getting no younger. And you, my gypsy princess … You need the fresh air and the sunlight. With the weather being so cold all of the time, I haven't brought you above for anything other than errands since that night in the Bois de Vincennes. You deserve a holiday… We could go to the Carmague… The marshlands are wonderful – if you can withstand the mosquitoes. And even they are only a true harassment at dawn and dusk!"

Arabella watched him with such bemusement that he began to shift a little nervously.

"You would like to see the horses, and the flamingos, wouldn't you? I don't know if you've ever seen a flamingo, before … have you?"

She continued to stare up at him without responding – clearly enjoying his boyish discomfort and doing absolutely nothing to alleviate it.

"What do you think?" he finally demanded, feeling childishly sullen at her silence. "Stop staring at me like an amusing juggler, and tell me!"

Giggling, Arabella tightened her arms around him.

"The Carmuge is along a shoreline, is it not?" she asked.

"Yes…" He tilted his head, eyeing her a little mistrustfully – like a bird would. "… Why?"

"I have not ridden a horse since I was a girl." She explained. "Yet I have seen many people ride their horses on a beach and even through the water… I have seen fires burning strange colors and seen sand flying as people danced along them..."

"But … never for yourself?" he asked curiously.

"No… not for myself. We usually passed through such areas too quickly. Some people cannot handle the strength of the wind that can come off of the sea… I was not one of them; but several people in my tribe were. We only went to the beach in Spain for the horse racing… otherwise we tended to stay away. There was always a good trade there during the races."

"Well I cannot promise you a horse all your own to ride on the beach." Erik found himself chuckling, sagging in relief. "But all other things I can offer you! So … does the idea please you?"

"Did you really doubt that it would?" she challenged, brushing her cheek against his.

Erik smiled, kissing her briefly once more before clearing his throat and detaching himself.

"I almost forgot … I wanted to run some errands before the shops closed. Why don't you take the opportunity to have a long, quiet bath? I can meet you in Box Five during the Opera…"

"Running errands?" Arabella blinds in surprise. "Erik … it's almost suppertime. I am making a stuffed cabbage."

"Then I will try to hurry." He promised; again kissing her forehead. He found he could never kiss her enough. "Besides, you have not actually started cooking yet. You have been far too busy helping me out here. But I _do_ need to get this _done_. I need to place orders … make certain I receive the products I want before we leave. I will meet you here if you want just as soon as I can. We can even miss the beginning of the Opera. It is only _Consi Fan Tutte._ Even Christine cannot make me like something so frivolous and cruel… I do not find humor in a plot tricking loyal women into affairs."

"We agreed you would go to all of her operas until we leave." Arabella reminded him.

"Then be ready when I … You know, I think I will buy some flowers to sneak into her room. I am certain I can find a way, even with the mirror passage no longer being an option. One bouquet to applaud all her performances for the rest of her life … that doesn't sound ridiculous, does it?"

"Not if you can find a way to give it to her without being discovered." Arabella sighed. "You just cannot help yourself – can you?"

"I suppose not. But have no fear… your bouquet will be five times as beautiful. Now … you'll still have plenty of time for a bath. I know how much you like your baths… Should I bring you some rose petals to scent it?"

"You know how I feel about the scent of roses." Arabella smiled at him indulgently; shoving lightly at his chest. "Go on … _Do not_ be late to eat. Unlike you, I like to be in my seat when the curtain goes up."

Erik laughed as he made his way to the boat.

His arrangements did not take overly long. He made one stop at the seamstress' shop where Arabella had gotten all of her clothing thus far, then at a jewelry and watch shop. There was little time to browse – given the time of day – but all he needed was to hand the design in his pocket over to the shop keep and explain what materials he wished used. Finally he could make his way to the florist shop.

For Christine he purchased a bouquet of thirteen white roses. Flowers had a language. Eve if she never guessed who the bouquet was from, he was certain she would understand the message. He wanted each white rose to be beyond perfect – and selecting each blossom by hand was the most time consuming errand of the evening. Only once it was put together did he find a bouquet for Arabella – something that was done more hastily but with no less thought behind it.

First he selected the roses … Yellow, pink, and of course dark red. Then he selected Yarrow and Amaryllis … knowing that the message might be lost on Arabella and that it was most likely far too much of the same message… but he did not care. The white roses for Christine meant nothing but an acknowledgement of how he thought of her as pure and perfect … and to exemplify his desire to apologize for all he'd made her endure because of him. Arabella though deserved to know the love, desire, and devotion he felt for her. Each flower, each color, had its' own special meaning. Most of them spoke of some form of love … but his devotion and desire were far too obvious for him to neglect acknowledging those aspects of his love.

When he returned home with the flowers, he was delighted by Arabella's reaction. She was enthralled by the amaryllis and yarrow, and seemed to take particular enjoyment in the yellow roses. She wasted no time in ruining the careful arrangement by plucking out one of the yellow blossoms and trimming off the thorns so that she could weave it into her hair.

"Do you think I should wear my yellow dress, or is that too much yellow?" she asked him curiously. "There is that pretty cornflower blue…"

" _Ma belle_ , no one is going to see you to show approval or disdain but me." He grinned. "Wear what pleases you best… I will think you beautiful regardless. You know that!"

After their supper, Erik walked Arabella silently up through the passages that still exsted. It was never comfortable – taking ladders in some areas just to make the journey. Arabella's clothes would likely be a little dusty; as would his own. But, since no one would see them and it would be dark, he was not worried about that. He was more concerned with the bouquet of white roses.… He still had not decided how he was supposed to get them to Christine. He certainly couldn't leave them in Box Five without giving away his presence … in spite of having purchased the box 'legitimately' for several weeks on end.

The performance was perfectly adequate; but even Arabella found herself bored. Usually he could find ways to keep her interested in the score or the libretto… but Erik was simply too displeased with the story. A story about two engaged men who take a bet from a third party saying their women will be unfaithful … and then pretend to leave only to return disguised as foreigners to seduce their fiancés. They even _marry_ the women in disguise. Erik thought it intensely unfair to paint women as so fickle when it was the fault of the men that their fiancés had married _them_ in a false wedding… especially when all was forgiven and the whole plot was pointless.

"I will take the roses." Arabella offered when the performance was over. "Christine has never seen me. I will tell her the flowers are from my family as a whole…"

She hesitated at the door to box five as he opened the hollow column that would allow him to hide from view.

"Unless… you want me to tell her they are from you."

"No, Bella." Erik sighed in frustration. "Please … stop testing me."

"I'm not trying to-"

"- _Yes_ – you _are_." Erik lifted a hand to stop her protest. "Bella, _I love you_. Christine believes me dead, and I wish it to _stay_ that way. Tell her you were paid to bring the roses by a stranger – nothing more. Surely plenty of men who are afraid of crossing the Vicomte will be sending her flowers anonymously."

Arabella watched him a long moment, and when she nodded he finally closed the column.

"I will wait for you here."

He was waiting nearly a half hour; and it proved entirely claustrophobic and worrying while he waited in the secret passage beside a ladder. Most of the noise from a leaving audience had faded before he heard the door open. Yet Arabella made no attempt to call to him at first. He found himself shifting anxiously; wondering if it _was_ Arabella in Box Five. He was almost prepared to flee just to be safe when he finally heard a gentle knock on the false marble between them.

"Erik…"

"Bella…" He sighed in relief, triggering the door so that he could step out and take her shoulders. He instantly disliked the solemnity in her eyes. "What's the matter? What took you so long?"

"I…" Arabella winced, hesitating. "I overheard something … Christine … she will not be performing again for a time."

"What?" Erik was astonished. " _Why_? She has been doing so _well_! Everyone _**adores**_ her!"

"After curtain call…" Arabella explained slowly. "Christine went to her room… Someone had left her a note. The _Comte_ had left her a notice."

"Philippe? What would _he_ have to say to her?"

"Raoul's ship has gone missing…"

Erik felt as though he had been punched by a man twice his size and strength. Bile rose in his throat as he thought of the consequences of this. Raoul's ship was missing? The Vicomte was likely dead – the ship lost in a storm. So … Christine was no doubt worried or grieving. Yes … this would explain why she would stop performing for a time. She would need personal time to deal with her grief…

"She … she did not guess who the roses were from – did she?" he demanded anxiously. "If she has even a hint of the fact that I sent them on the same night she has received this news-"

His voice was rising with his anxiety, and Arabella winced as his hands clamped hard onto her shoulders. Hissing at his clumsiness, he let go of her as though he'd been burned by her skin.

"I … I'm sorry. I didn't mean to –"

"I'll be all read." Arabella shook her head dismissively. "She has no idea who sent the roses. She barely even noticed when I brought them in. She was being comforted by Meg Giry… a few of the other chorus girls. I suppose she must have cried out when she read the notice?"

"And the Comte cared so little of her reaction, that he didn't even come to tell her in person?" Erik demanded incredulously.

"He was never happy with Christine becoming involved with Raoul to begin with, Erik." Arabella attempted to reason.

"But … but she is a Prima donna now!" he exclaimed. "That is a far cry from being interested in marrying some glorified chorus girl! There is virtually no shame in it whatsoever!"

"He's an aristocrat, Erik. Perhaps he is just too proud to want someone of such …" Sighing, Arabella took his hands. "Listen … there is nothing we can do. I just … I thought you would want to know why tonight may have been the last performance you see her in."

Erik nodded slowly, although his stomach churned at that thought.

"Thank you…" He murmured, turning away to begin climbing the ladder inside the column passageway. He couldn't help the bitterness in his voice; but he did not blame Arabella. He could not blame the bearer of bad news. He just did not know how to react to the disgusting soup of emotions swirling through his heart.

Knowing Raoul was possibly no longer part of Christine's life … it made him feel as though she were free. It was a very dangerous thought … but he could not control the fact that he had it. He was concerned for Christine's welfare – if she would survive such grief after losing her father and barely surviving _that_. He felt terrible that he may never hear another performance; and was slightly disgusted that his last possible performance was such a disappointment. Christine had not been disappointing, of course; but the production and story certainly had been.

"Erik…" Arabella's voice made him hesitate on the first rung of the ladder, and he turned with one hand on a higher rung to look at her. "I am sure you must want to go and try to comfort her-"

"-What?" he stared at her with wide eyes. "No! No! I have no interest in that! Do not even put the thought in my head!"

"Erik – I would understand!" she attempted again. But her persistence – her understanding – only made him angry.

" _No_ , Arabella! I am sure you _would_ understand if I felt the need to comfort a friend. But the desire _does not exist_. Let her find comfort with her friends … in her art… Let _time_ heal her. I would only make it worse."

Frustrated, he turned and nearly stomped up into the hallway overhead. A moment later, Arabella made her own much quiet way up behind him. It was dark in the passageway; but Erik still managed to take her had in a hard grasp so that he could lead her home.

"No more nonsense about visiting Christine or showing her any further hints that I am alive." He told her angrily. "Do you promise me, Bella? I made my choice. I have my wife, and my life, and I am tired of doing harm. Can you just imagine how traumatic it would be for Christine to lose her lover and be re-introduced to the man who had terrorized her in the same night? Anywhere even _close_ to the same time frame?"

"Perhaps she would be grateful."

Stopping, Erik took in a deep, steadying breath.

"I do not feel enough empathy for her plight." He admitted. "If I did not terrify her instantly, my dispassion would make her feel no better whatsoever. What am I to tell her? If the boy is still alive, he will return – but there simply is no way to know for sure that will happen and it likely will not. I cannot comfort her with such honesty. I could tell her that at least she still has her wonderful career. Would _that_ help? No!"

"All right…" Arabella said; her voice very soft in the darkness.

Erik nodded – knowing she could not see. Then, after all but dragging her several more yards, he lifted her hand and kissed the back of it without softening his grip around her fingers.

"I appreciate your willingness to let me so much as _think_ about comforting her.…" he acknowledged. "But this is _our_ time now. I promised to put her behind me. I feel terrible for her sorrow … but I cannot interfere. I … am leaving Paris with you very soon. There is no point in reintroducing myself to her only to abandon her in a few short weeks. Thank you, _ma belle_. But my choice is made."


	28. Chapter 28

"What in the Hell are you doing in my parlor?"

Erik turned away from the fireplace he'd been stoking for the past five minutes while Darius and Nadir ate a late supper in their kitchen. He had – as was his habit – entered without knocking through a locked door as though he had absolutely every right to be there. Apparently, he'd also been much quieter working with a dying fire than _they_ had been eating and cleaning up their flatware. Now Nadir stood in the parlor wearing a pair of black slacks and a casual shirt the color of ancient bronze … like a statue that had been left out in the element for centuries. Erik thought it flattered the tone of Nadir's leathery skin.

"It is about time you noticed I was here." Erik greeted with false annoyance. "You are far less observant in your old age, Daroga. I might have slipped into the kitchen and slit your throat twenty times by now!"

Nadir opened his mouth, his face filling with outraged color. Yet he wound up only staring at Erik for a long moment, swallowing every rant and scolding he had been prepared to unleash. Finally he just sighed heavily and noisily, folding his arms across his chest.

"You must have some reason to be here." He grumbled. "Out with it."

Erik offered his old friend a rueful smile.

"What happened to all that self-righteous indignation?" he asked bitterly. "It used to be so easy to rile you up! Has your royal blood cooled so much?"

"Being angry at you takes up far too much energy, Erik." Nadir admitted, finally making his way a little warily towards him. "I give in. I am simply used to you. Now … _what_ do you _want_?"

"Can you not even offer your old bosom buddy a –"

"Out with it!" Nadir finally snapped – although his heart didn't seem in it.

Erik frowned slightly. Although he'd finally gotten the rise out of the old policeman that he wanted; he was finally realizing how old and drawn Nadir was. He had spent the last several years trying to forget how damaged he was from his five years in prison. He had aged twenty years in five … and he was over sixty to boot. The combination was starting to catch up with the Daroga… and Erik felt unease fill him for the first time in a long while.

"Very well…" he gave in, sinking uninvited into one of the parlor chairs. "…Have you read this morning's paper?"

"Oh." Nadir scowled. "Yes, of course." His body was relaxing, and he sank into his own chair. He seemed mildly surprised that Erik had not taken _his_ accustomed chair just to prove himself further annoying. "What about it?"

Erik fidgeted; a little anxious now that they had simply gotten to the crux of the matter.

"The Vicomte de Chagney is missing…" he announced. "His entire ship has been missing for over a week. It is presumed lost at sea."

Nadir leaned heavily back into his seat, looking at Erik uncertainly. He did not speak to Erik and Arabella as often as he would like. His health had been slowly but inexorably failing in his later years; and the trip to the house beyond the lake was too much on him as of late. It wasn't anything unprecedented for a man his age, of course. But when Darius was also his age and flat-out refused to deliver an invitation to the lair of the once dreaded Angel of Doom on behalf of his friend and Master … getting together was difficult. Erik and Arabella were far too content amongst their own company to make very many visits, and Nadir was loathe to intrude on them.

"How is Christine handling this news?" he asked suspiciously. Given Erik's obsession; he simply _had_ to assume Erik was keeping a close eye on the diva.

"I have no idea. Not well from what Arabella told me initially."

"You…" Nadir sat forward with a disapproving scowl. "You have your own _wife_ doing your dirty work now? That poor girl! Erik, what in the Hell is _wrong_ with-"

"-It was not dirty work!" Erik interrupted – although he seemed less angry in his self-defense as he did desperate to be believed. "I bought Christine a single bouquet of roses and Arabella offered to deliver it to her dressing room for me! It was the only contact I have had with her since the masquerade! One bouquet to say I am so very sorry for so very much … to say goodbye one final time-"

"-Goodbye?" Nadir cut in sharply. "I thought you had already **_said_ ** your goodbyes?"

Erik took a moment to breathe in. It was a long, steadying breath.

"Yes." He admitted. "I did … but … but this was a _real_ goodbye. I can never send her flowers again – not that I _have_ since she left my house that night. It was to put the last of her behind me. Especially since Bella and I are leaving Paris… I will never even be able to applaud another performance! Especially now that Christine is taking a sabbatical in her grief!"

Nadir stared at Erik for so long that the darkly dressed gentleman shifted uncomfortably. Because he had not gotten so comfortable as to remove his cloak and hat, it was the first opportunity the Old Persian had to realize that Erik was not dressed _entirely_ in immaculate white silk shirt and black evening suit. For some reason, he had decided to wear a very dark – but still not black – blood red waistcoat. It was not something completely out of sorts for most gentlemen. Many men – especially those who considered themselves fashionable dandies – liked to splash color into their wardrobe. But Nadir had never known _Erik_ to do that in his own personal time. For some kind of performance - either as magician or Angel of Doom - yes. But on his own? _Never_.

"You … are leaving Paris?" he asked slowly in disbelief. "How long have you been planning this?"

"Since the day after the Masquerade." Erik admitted, bowing his head with a little shame. "This place … Christine … it has all proven too overwhelming. I want to take Bella far away from it all. Now, knowing Christine is suffering again as she did before I entered her life … the idea is a little more difficult. But I … I _cannot_ back down now. I am so close to being free of Christine's innocent influence!"

Nadir rolled his eyes in disapproval; causing Erik to spread his hands out imploringly.

"I am admitting my faults and weaknesses to you!" he pressed. "Nadir, the reason I am here is because of _her_. Because you _know_ I cannot simply _leave_ when Christine is in such a state! But I cannot _stay_ , either! I _must_ leave! For myself, for Christine – and most of all for Arabella! But I _cannot_ leave knowing no one is looking out for her!"

"So you have come to ask _me_ to do so in your stead." Nadir stated; his face still twisted in displeasure. "It is not _my_ place to watch out for a strange young woman – _nor_ is it _yours_."

"Nadir…" Erik tried helplessly. "I am asking you – as a friend-"

"-As your friend?" Nadir demanded. "As your friend, I am telling you to let this go! I have done far too much _as your friend_!"

"But what harm could it do?" Erik insisted. "I only ask you keep an eye on her!"

Sighing, Nadir bent his head so that he could more easily massage his temples.

"I am too old for this nonsense." He muttered before lifting his eyes once more to the old fool across from him. "So are you, Erik. Christine will be all right. She is prima donna of the Paris Opera House! Her income is more than enough for a woman of such modest living to survive on. Her heart may be burdened just now – but I **_dare_ ** you to find someone whose heart is _not_ tormented from time to time! She is young, absolutely beautiful, sings like a literal angel, and has much more strength now than she likely ever had before surviving _your_ ardor!"

He lifted a finger at Erik to keep him from arguing.

"No!" he continued. " _Enough_ , Erik! _**Enough**_! If you have not come here for some better reason than to keep an eye on Christine Daae; then you had better leave!"

Erik stared at Nadir for a long time; the emotions in his eyes so turbulent that Nadir could almost see the maelstrom forming in them. Still … he slowly subsided. He slumped back in his chair like a man beaten, his age suddenly apparent even through the mask that hid his hideous deformity.

"Yes…" he finally admitted, slowly gathering himself and attempting to lock the topic of Christine into some back room of his mind. "There _was_ something else. I need you to help me in another respect - something I hope you will find far more enjoyable. You see… Arabella and I are going to be taking a holiday in the Camargue … before we move on to Trieste…"

"I still cannot believe that you are leaving Paris." Nadir admitted, when it seemed Erik was fumbling hard for the right words and deciding against many options. There was a bittersweet ache in his chest at the thought of his companion moving out of reach. Honestly … he did not have very many friends of his own. Life would be a bit lonelier without Erik and his sweet wife around. But … well … he and Erik were old men. Surely his life would not last a great many years longer – particularly not with his declining health – which had not been particularly good ever since the years he'd spent in prison. He would not regret Erik finally being able to find a happy life in another locale.

"Neither can I …" Erik breathed, looking broken and frightened for a moment. "But … Arabella…"

Slowly he sat up straighter, the very thought of his wife seeming to bolster him.

"She deserves more than the life I chose … and she wants to give _me_ so much more! I think I can accept those things from her. Even if she does nothing but hold my hand as I reach for other things… I … I think I can do it, Nadir. I _want_ to do it. For the first time in decades, I want a life among others - as long as she is one of them, of course!"

"That is good." Nadir acknowledged.

"Yes. And this holiday is only the beginning of a … a brand new life. I want to give Arabella something. Because something has been nagging at me for weeks on end now, and…"

"Erik, just spit it out!" Nadir complained. "I am not having my after dinner drink with you here. The scotch is far too expensive to share, and Bella would resent if I sent you home drunk!"

Erik glared at him, but not without humor.

"I told you that Bella is my wife …" he began – still speaking slowly. "…This _is_ true. But it is not strictly legal. We have nothing to _prove_ that we are married… I want to change that. I want her to _feel_ like my wife… Like the title is more than something I call her to get away with … with…"

Erik lapsed into utterly embarrassed silence – and Nadir let him. After a moment he stood, walked over to his liquor cabinet, and pulled out two tumblers and a decanter of brandy. He poured a finger of alcohol into each, and then casually carried one to offer it to Erik. He was very careful to offer Erik the glass with much less alcohol in it. He had not lied about wanting to make sure Erik returned home sober.

"What did you have in mind?" he asked softly.

Erik took the offered drink with a grateful look and a mostly hidden smile.

"Oh … not much…" He chuckled tiredly. "Do you think you might take a short holiday in _Saintes Maries de la Mur_ to support a friend?"


	29. Chapter 29

**A/N: Hey everyone. I'm considering whether or not I should keep going from here. I don't HAVE to have reviews to keep writing, but they DO help my incentive. But I haven't been getting very many. But that's nothing compared to how wrapped up in a bow this chapter felt to me as I was writing it. I have plenty more to write, but don't want to drag this story on unrealistically. Please just let me know your thoughts? Thank you so much to everyone who has read, reviewed, and Favorited.**

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Arabella looked out at the ocean … an enormous expanse she had seen before, but normally at a distance. She had been rather young the last time her tribe had made it to any of the Cadiz horse race festivals with her tribe. She couldn't even remember if she had been old enough to have her first bleeding yet. But, even as an adult, the water seemed almost terrifyingly infinite. The water was calm, the waves almost non-existent. But even sitting atop a rented white horse, she could feel the current tugging at the feet of her mount.

The animal's lungs heaved beneath her. Even riding side-saddle – which she had never done before this holiday with Erik – she had managed something close to an all-out gallop on the gentle mare. Erik had been shadowing her; always close enough to potentially grab the horses' reigns or to even grab her from its back if she should run into trouble. But it had not been necessary. They had been riding for the better part of two hours along the shore. Sometimes it was rocky, and sometimes it was sandy. But there had been times when they'd left the shore itself altogether to ride in the grassy dunes above the beach. The animals deserved a rest – and Erik had told her to stop before they reached the next rocky outcropping. High beyond the dunes and beach, built upon the rocks, she could see a small and reasonably secluded Inn. At least … Erik told her it was an Inn. To her it looked like a great mansion of the Gothic style.

"Had enough?" she asked Erik, turning away from the low shimmering water for the first time in nearly five minutes of restful silence. Her eyes were bright and mischievous in the late afternoon light.

"Not at all." He denied with a laugh. "I just thought you might like to have something to eat."

"Oh – you packed an apple in that little saddlebag, did you?" she challenged, referring to the sack that was barely more than a satchel. It had been bouncing of his horses flank for the entire ride, and Arabella had been curious from the very beginning.

They had not planned to go this far – at least not to her knowledge. But Erik had been encouraging her joyful riding ever since they'd set out from the outskirts of _Saintes Maries de la Mur._ It had surprised her, considering the walk from their rented shack out in the marshlands was over an hour. She wouldn't mind walking at night – and no doubt Erik wouldn't mind, either. But the mosquitos did indeed prove to be a virtual plague around sunrise and sunset… and walking outside at those times of day would be _far_ less than desirable.

Erik turned his horse, walking it up onto drier land so that he could dismount before motioning her closer.

"It's much better than an apple." He promised. "Come down from there, _mira kom_. We should take a rest before we start chafing _most_ uncomfortably."

Arabella raised an amused eyebrow at him as she accepted his help down.

"Did you just make a joke about intimacy?" she demanded. "Erik, I'm so proud of you!"

She laughed as Erik's shoulders hunched and he turned his masked face away. Even after they had been lovers for weeks on end, it was still difficult for Erik to directly reference it. When he wanted to make love, he might be able to say something flirtatious… perhaps use some scandalous hinting. But usually he tried very hard to make no mention of it whatsoever outside of directly trying to tell her he was in that type of mood… or at least open to _getting_ into the mood.

When he pulled away as though to skulk off, she quickly caught up and threaded her arm through his.

"Don't be upset…" she crooned – her voice still teasing even though she was sincere. "We are alone. We are husband and wife. There is nothing to be ashamed of."

"I'm not ashamed…" he denied. "I just … had not realized what I was implying."

He paused, stepping away from her long enough to gather the reigns of the two horses so that he could guide them away from the water.

"We can tether them up there in the grass … We can't risk them getting rebellious when they belong to someone else, can we?"

Arabella smiled, watching as he walked over with the large animals and tethered them as loosely as he safely could. He then took a moment to pet the animals, loosening straps here and there so the animal could feel slightly less restrained. Then he turned and walked back over to her, looking over his shoulder at the horses as though worried they might disappear.

"Shall we walk?" he asked once he was again at her side, motioning to an inlet of tall rocks. "We could do a little exploring…"

"Not much discovering to be done." She noted, even as they started walking. "The rocks can't be more than a few yards …"

When they came around the tall standing rocks, her voice faltered. Erik was tensing ever-so-slightly beneath her touch as they came into view of a very large picnic basket that couldn't possibly have been left there for very long. She blinked rapidly in confusion, looking around for an explanation. There was a bluff nearby with a small out-of-the-way inn. There was a gardener tending the grounds closest to the beach … and she caught him glancing over his shoulder anxiously towards them. He was higher than them; but once he wandered off to other parts of the property she and Erik would be completely alone.

"Well?" Erik asked quietly, making her turn to him in confusion. After a moment, his entire body squirmed as he held an arm out towards the picnic basket. "Are you hungry?"

"Erik… when did you arrange this?" Arabella's entire body tightened – but in giddy excitement that her husband still managed to be so sneaky. "You have barely left my side!"

"People can still be paid to carry messages from one place to another – and back." He pointed out. "Three days ago I went into the grocer's and paid his wife a very lovely amount to make certain this could get done. Her brother works at the inn up there."

He motioned towards the inn on the bluff, and Arabella assumed the gardener must be the grocers' brother-in-law.

"Small town people are very nice…" she mused quietly.

"Small town people are suspicious… but they're also usually poor enough to let anyone pay them for simple tasks."

He brought her over to the basket and pulled out a surprisingly large blanket. It took both of them ad a few nearby rocks to lay it on the harder packed sand of the area – given how strong the sea breeze was. There were a candelabra and candles available in the basket – but Erik found himself scoffing at the idea of having to light them ten thousand times as they ate. The food inside was simple – but ample. There were several vegetables, a few cured meats, and a lot of cheese and fruit. Two different bottles of wine and one of champagne finished off the entire package with a small box of chocolates that _surely_ had been sent for from a larger town or city.

"You don't mind sitting on the ground?" Arabella asked worriedly.

"I'm old – not ancient." Erik defended himself, looking vaguely affronted. "What about you? Will you be comfortable enough?"

"I've been in worse places." She stated, lowering herself down onto the blanket.

Before she could eat, Erik had to help her fix the hair that had come loose from its braid. Otherwise the breeze coming off of the sea would have given her a mouthful of her own hair rather than food with every attempted bite. They were both laughing almost hysterically before he could even open the bottle of red wine that had been in the basket, and he struggled to keep a straight face long enough to offer a simple toast.

"Are you enjoying our little holiday?" Erik asked curiously while they ate. His eyes were on a small flock of gulls beginning to move in on their little picnic. He'd already pulled out a small fistful of _centimes_ to use as ammunition if the little vultures came too close.

"Of course I am.' Arabella grinned broadly at him. "The town is much smaller than I thought it would be… There are less than a thousand people living here, wouldn't you say?"

"Well… there may be more than that … but … definitely no more than two, for certain." Erik shrugged indifferently.

"Did you see the gentleman sketching the boats this morning?" Arabella asked after a few minutes of a very companionable and happy silence. "When you were fetching the horses, there was a man … But he left shortly before you came back. He said he had lost the proper light… or something…"

"Do you mean that scrawny, ragged-looking fellow?" Erik guessed.

"Yes…" Arabella agreed. "With the red beard and hair…"

"Poor fellow looked starved half to death." Erik grunted. "I almost considered trying to purchase a sketch off of him. But then I likely would have just tossed it away. Most starving artists are starving for a reason."

"Well … for such a simple sketch, it seemed good enough."

Erik smiled at her, and Arabella narrowed her eyes at the expression. She could tell it was an indulgent smile – even though she could barely make out his thin lower lip beneath the mask.

"If we see him again, perhaps he'll be willing to sketch you."

"Don't tease, Erik." Arabella plucked a grape from a large bunch of them on her plate, and tossed it at his shoulder. He pretended that he'd been struck by a bullet before picking the grape up and popping it visibly between his teeth.

The picnic was filled with such playful and relaxed moments. But eventually the sun began to sink for the horizon, and Erik decided it might be wise to head back towards town. He cleaned up what little mess they'd made by putting everything back into the basket – including their by then quite-covered-in-sand blanket. Then he'd placed it up on a wall for the gardener to see for pickup, and walked Arabella back towards the horses and out of view of the inn.

"Would you like me to help you up?" he offered, squeezing her hand briefly as she reached for the saddle horn.

Arabella looked at him with a smirk and lifted eyebrow.

"You are incredibly gallant today." She noted, putting a foot into her stirrup and nearly leaping up onto her horse. "Even more gallant than usual. What has gotten into you?"

Her amusement turned to entertained suspicion as he began smoothing her skirts down on the horse, pulling the material over her ankles and away from the saddle horn where the reigns had been lightly coiled. He did not even attempt to answer her as she began working at those reigns only to knock loose a colored ribbon that _had not_ been tied to the horn before.

It was a lovely seafoam green ribbon of silk … and it had something tied securely to its loose end. It was small, golden, and glimmered with red white and orange sparks of light as it landed lightly against her thigh. She sensed Erik's sudden stillness as her uncertain hand began to lift the object.

For a moment she stared at it, her eyes enormous and her breath caught in her throat. Then she raised her already bedecked hand to make certain she was wearing her engagement ring from many years before. Because the ring in her hand and tied to the saddle horn was a smaller but gorgeously rendered recreation of the phoenix ring Erik had bought her while she languished in a doctor's house. It was smaller, and made of _real_ yellow gold and _real_ expensive jewels.

She turned it in the late afternoon sunlight, nearly hypnotized by how the light struck the brand new ring. It was the most extravagant thing she'd ever laid eyes on – made with a much more skilled hand than the one her own older ring had been made with. The mythical bird could easily have flown to life on the smaller band.

"Bella…"

Erik's voice was soft, and quavered just enough to get her attention. Her eyes jerked over to his, where he stood with his head barely at level with her waist. He reached up and gently clasped a hand over her wrist.

"The ring you wear represents a lost marriage… a lost love."

She glanced down at the larger ring that she'd long thought made of gold and a few pieces of cut glass. The glass she'd been right about – but not entirely the gold. Erik had told her it was only a cheaper metal coated in a very thin layer of gold. It was not pure. It was still beautiful … and it still looked virtually rand new – even though she quite literally never took it off. Not to bathe, not to clean, ad not to sleep. Slowly she looked at the new ring again, and then to Erik.

"The one _in your hand_ represents a newborn love that is purer and stronger. Something far more genuine than I could ever have dreamed of feeling even in my love struck youth."

He slid his hand gently from her wrist until he could pick up her hand and gently press a kiss to the back of it.

"I was a widow … for over thirty years. Arabella … will you do me the honor of again becoming Madame Sauveterre? No questions of legality or being out of the sight of God … no forgeries … Marry me, _mira kom_. Please… marry me in every possible way known to man or God."

She had been ready to ask so many questions. But as he'd continued his speech he had cleared every last one of them away from her mind. She looked down at him from atop her horse and began to understand with slight dismay why he'd chosen to propose in this fashion. It was the closest he could comfortably get to proposing on one knee. Out here by the sea where it was constantly cool and damp … his age forced his body into bits of rebellion.

"You are not saying anything." Erik accused softly, taking half a step back as she tightened her own grip on the hand he had not released. "Why will you not say anything? Should I have asked during our picnic? Should I be on my knees? I know that I don't deserve you – but I will beg if you-"

"-No!" Arabella jerked instinctively on his arm although he had done nothing to try and kneel as he threatened. "No, Erik. No begging! I _never_ want to see you beg! I am sorry! This is … it is _beautiful_! _You_ have been absolutely _perfect_!"

"Then why-"  
"-Forgive me, _mira ves'tacha_." She interrupted again. Her voice was achingly gentle – as he had been during their entire holiday. "I am in a bit of shock. I never expected… _Of course_ I will marry you!"

She slipped her old engagement ring off her finger, and then hesitated. She was only mildly surprised when Erik pulled a very thin leather strip from one pocket and offered it to her.

"Here…" he murmured, his hands visibly shaking suddenly as his voice quivered. "Put it on this. No reason to throw this one into the sea. One you might wear by your heart instead of on your hand…"

It seemed a little ludicrous to wear two of the same ring … but he was right in helping her to keep the old one. In certain ways it was a thousand times more precious to her than a more expensive version of it. They had both been simple people at that time. Poor. It had come from a place of love perhaps even more intense than what they shared on the beach. As cheap as the old ring was, she knew Erik must have paid a fair amount of his meager savings for it.

Once the old ring was hanging around her neck, Erik untied the new one from its silk ribbon and gently slid it onto her finger. His breathing was slightly ragged by then, and Arabella had to curtail the impulse to ask if he was going to be all right. His eyes met hers, and his hands held her waist as she leaned far down to kiss him. After a moment, he was pulling her back down from the horse to hold her much more tightly – forgetting in a moment of rare unselfconsciousness that they were technically in public.

When she pulled away, her own breath was ragged and tears glimmered on her cheeks. This time, Erik did not ask if she was hurt or upset. He just smiled at her, wiping them away with the pad of his thumb.

He understood.

"I have another gift for you." He whispered. "Back at our meager little shack… But for tonight I have arranged for us to stay up there in that inn. It will be much warmer than we have been … and they will have hot water for a bath. It may be salt water… but it will be hot and fresh. I know how much you miss that particular luxury… and I promise you will have it when we move to Trieste."

She slid her arms around Erik, her fingertips playing with the back of his neck.

"I already have everything I need." She murmured; then laughed. "But I admit I will accept the bath!"


	30. Chapter 30

**A/N: Slow going, guys. Plot and typing. Sorry but I've been terribly uninspired and unable to concentrate on anything lately. But you've been waiting for a long time, so I decided to send you this half of a chapter as an entire chapter. I also thought it might help with feedback as to how much I should continue. Little (or lot) more melodrama to come if you miss it. I just wanted to spread it out.**

 **Thank you for all your loyalty!**

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 _ **You look beautiful…**_

Arabella turned away from the cheap mirror, her hands pausing on the veiled hat that she had been carefully arranging. Erik had gifted the gown to her the day after his proposal; and she had adored how he constantly found ways to interject a theme of flames and phoenixes. From a distance her dress would appear to be white – or at least off white. Yet when one got up close or looked at it in just the right light, the gown and hat proved to be much more pearlescent. There were shades of yellow, orange, and red all over everything. And there was beautiful subtle embroidery of the same colors that showed a phoenix in flight wrapping around from the back hem of her skirt and ending up high on her bodice.

"Adnah?" she murmured quietly – not wanting to disturb Erik as he prepared himself out in the dooryard. "I have not heard from you in … a long time. You have been very quiet."

 _ **I had little to say…**_ Adnah admitted. _**Besides … you may be marrying Erik today … but the two of you have been behaving like newlyweds for quite some time.**_

Ducking her head in embarrassment, Arabella blushed – unable to keep from smiling in chagrin.

 _ **I thought it best to keep my distance. But … you'll be married today … I wanted to congratulate you…**_

"Thank you…" Arabella picked her head back up, her smile faltering slightly. She had in turns both nearly forgotten about Adnah … and also somehow managed to make such a peace with him that she realized she had come close to missing him during his long silences.

 _ **I also wanted to say good-bye.**_

"Good-bye?" Now shock made Arabella's face go completely slack. "What do you mean? You are going somewhere?"

 _ **I … want to figure out how to move on…**_

She was unsure how to take this. She no longer held any animosity towards Adnah … but she didn't exactly welcome his presence in her new life. It was rather confusing to worry about what might happen to him now that he didn't wish to haunt anyone.

Was that all it took? Choosing to try and move on?

"I … wish you the best of luck…" she offered slowly. "Will you … stay for the wedding?"

Adnah chuckled, and her head turned in the direction she thought the sound was coming from. He seemed to be standing by the window in a brilliant shaft of sunlight.

 _ **I would like that… Bella…**_ Even though she could not see him, Arabella felt as if Adnah was shifting uncomfortably. _**Bella … for years you remembered the most horrible things about me. Can … can I ask you a favor?**_

"Yes… I suppose so. I can afford to be a little generous on my wedding day."

 _ **Will you remember me as I was when we were children? How you and I**_ **both** _ **were?**_

She swallowed thickly … trying to remember. Did she even _have_ any memories of Adnah as a boy? Mostly her mind was consumed with memories of her grandfather when she dared to think of happier times before her fathers' abuse had seemed to take everything good out of her life. Had she and Adnah played together _at all_?

To her surprise … _yes_. When she actually tried … she could recall Adnah as a boy. He'd been older than her by a few scant years; but he'd _often_ been there. He had been a favorite of her grandfathers'… Since he'd had no son or grandson, it was no wonder he had eventually connected with a different Romani boy… How could she have forgotten that?

She could remember her grandfathers' funeral … something that almost made Arabella violently block the memories away because now she remembered the funeral had not been for only one man! Her mouth went dry as she saw four different bodies laid out in preparation for burial. Beside her was Adnah, offering her flowers to place on her grandfathers' bier.

 _ **Yes…**_ Adnah agreed, apparently seeing into her mind. _**I think that was what changed us… The gypsy hunt that took your grandfather … my brother … the others… our last visit to Cadiz was the end of our innocence.**_

Arabella swallowed hard, her throat making a painful ticking noise in the process.

 _ **I know it changed**_ **me** _ **… and for a long time I did not understand why**_ **you** _ **had changed in the ways**_ **you** _ **did. I am sorry for becoming what I did … and not realizing the torment you continued to suffer.**_

She shook her head, unable to speak as she licked anxiously at her dry lips.

"I forgive you." She whispered. "For everything … I forgive you. May you find peace…"

There was nothing else. Adnah was still there … but he said nothing. He seemed further away somehow … as though he were on the other side of a pane of glass. Slowly she stood back up and returned to the mirror to make certain her hair was not falling out of place.

"I leave you to God…"

"Would you look at this?" Erik said as she finally stepped outside a few minutes later. He stood near the corner of their shack, looking out over the wide grasslands where they'd watched wild horses' run and graze almost every day since their arrival. This morning was different, though. There were _people_ there … and tents … and even a few wagons.

"Is … is that a _Romani_ _ **tribe**_?" Arabella asked in amazement, her eyes wide.

"They must be here on pilgrimage…" Erik mused quietly, wiping his hands as though to clean them of dust or grime. It was an interesting and slightly nervous gesture he usually didn't give into. Arabella glanced him over, appreciating that he was not wearing only his usual black and white formal attire as he had at the Opera House. Ever since coming out to the country, he'd allowed himself to wear more casual clothes … but they were often still black and white. Now, though, his very nice formal suit was accented by a waistcoat of golden silk. "I hope they do not try to invade the church during the ceremony…"

Arabella's eyebrows lifted in amusement.

"Perhaps it is a sign… a good omen." She suggested. "Both of our people being present in some form on our wedding day… _surely_ it is a good sign."

Erik laughed sharply – a skeptical sound of wry humor. Then he put an arm around her shoulders and squeezed them before kissing her temple.

"You are so optimistic." He murmured. "You always see things in ways I don't…"

He released her abruptly and turned away from the group of strangers far enough away that their voices barely carried on the hard breeze. Arabella stared out at them for a long moment; curious enough that she was tempted to walk out and see how many people there were and what they were like. But she was not going to do that on her wedding day. After a moment, she turned away and saw that Erik had taken out the small single-horse wagon they used to shop in the town.

"You are not nervous, are you?" she asked gently as he helped her up onto the seat. "Having them near our house?"

"We will see where they are when we return." He said quickly. "I will lock up the shack – just in case one or two of them are tempted to burglarize this pathetic little building."

He held up hands of submission almost instantly at the look on her face.

"No need to be offended, _mira kom_!" he assured her. "I am not trying to say that all gypsies lie and cheat and steal. We both know better than that. But they are not all saints, either. Someone might be tempted… especially if they have fallen on harder times."

"In France?" Arabella bit out her own bitter little laugh. "I guarantee they _have_ fallen on hard times. It is worse in France than it is in Spain for my people."

Erik maneuvered the wagon up beyond the corner of the house so they again had a sight lie to the encampment of gypsies. There was no sign that anyone out there had even realized that there was a house of any kind near them yet. For a long few minutes they just sat quietly and watched a trio of men – two of them more likely boys based on their size – tried to form a triangle around one of the wild white horses in order to pen it in and move in close.

"They cannot actually think they will get away with breaking a Carmague horse!" Erik scoffed softly.

"That horse is half tame as it is." Arabella scoffed back. "Most of them are! They will have it broken by sunset. They will be able to sell it elsewhere."

Erik shook his head and clucked at their own Percheron horse with her beautiful cocoa-colored coat. Compared to the Carmague horses, theirs was quite massive … and Erik had every intentions of bringing it by train to Triste with them.

"Nadir had better be waiting for us." Erik grumbled as the wagon began rattling along their small and isolated dirt road. "I am not going to wait on him if he missed his coach yesterday!"

"Maybe we should have gone into town yesterday to make certain." Arabella stated – an opinion she'd been giving the entire previous day.

"Nadir is more surly after a day of travelling than I am after a day working on a building site." Erik finally grinned at her. "Even I am not foolish enough to poke _that_ wasp next. And you know I could not possibly help but do it if I stood in his presence!"

She laughed, hooking her arm through his and glancing over her shoulder for one last view of the gypsy encampment as Erik sped up their pace. The smile slipped just a little as she caught sight of a young woman somewhere between the three men trying to capture the white horse … and the rest of the tribe. She had not been there a few moments before – which of course meant nothing. But she stood there in the tall grass … watching the three men and standing almost as still as a statue with her braided hair whipping in the wind. She wore a blouse that was sky blue … and a skirt of brightest canary yellow.

Even with the distance between them … Arabella thought she seemed familiar. But she shook herself free of that strange and eerie sense of familiarity before turning forward again. It was no surprise that such feelings might overcome her. She had not seen another gypsy tribe since her death – Erik had avoided them at all costs afterward. Not to mention that she had just said goodbye to Adnah after recalling a long-buried and traumatic memory.

Smiling softly, she looked up at her groom.

"Adnah will be leaving us." She murmured. "He just told me. After he sees the wedding … he's decided to move on in whatever way he can."

Erik frowned behind his mask; carefully considering her words.

"Why now?" he wondered musingly.

"I do not know. But I am happy for him. And … I think I am a little happy he will be a witness for our new beginning…"

Erik snorted.

"You are so giving, _ma belle_ …" he praised. "But… I suppose I can be pleased on his behalf … if you want me to be."

They continued on for several minutes, watching the road and listening to the peace of the world around them.

"Perhaps we can bring back things for the tribe…" Erik murmured quietly. "Giving something on our own wedding day may bring us luck. And it has been a hard winter… Perhaps we might gift them with something from the butchers?"

"They would appreciate that… but they will be suspicious."

"Not if you gift it to them, _mira ves'tacha_."

There were more moments of silence while Arabella put all thoughts of the gypsy tribe aside – at least for the time being.

"I cannot wait to see Nadir."

"No?" Erik gave her a curious side glance. "Be careful, _ma belle_. You may waken my jealous side… Should we hurry, then? So you can reunite with the beloved Daroga all that much faster?"

"If blaming me for your eagerness makes you feel better – by all means."

The reunion with Nadir was short-lived; but filled with enthusiasm and vibrancy that gained the attention of townspeople wandering through the area. It probably was not all that often that they would see a gypsy bride walking the street with a masked groom walking side-by-side with two Middle Eastern men in formal silk _perahan_ garments of rich jewel colors. Nadir dressed slightly more luxuriously than Darius in a deep midnight blue that was embroidered with silver and gold. Darius was in a slightly more subdued jade colored ensemble embroidered in only silver. Both wore turbans – which made them stand out all the more.

"Bella!" Nadir greeted as he and Darius stepped out of the lobby of the tiny and provincial hotel of the town. His arms immediately went wide open, and he enfolded the smaller gypsy bride into a warm hug that nearly lifted her off of her feet. Behind him, Darius held a box in his arms carefully, smiling with polite but sincere pleasure as he nodded to Erik. "Look at you! You look absolutely radiant – and beautiful!"

"Stealing my bride already, are you old man?" Erik demanded with a laugh – forcing himself not to shift nervously and uncomfortably as their exuberance garnered attention he didn't want. "All right – all right; unhand her now!"

Arabella laughed as she released Nadir and reached out to clasp hands briefly but warmly with Darius before returning to Erik's side. By then, Nadir had already shaking his hand with eagerness and laughter of his own. Her face was a brilliant shade of red as the excitement began to finally overtake her.

"Heaven forbid I enjoy having a simple armful of lovely girl for five or so seconds." Nadir was teasing Erik.

This was normally the entirely wrong thing to say to Erik – considering Erik's jealousy issues and general hatred of Nadir's good looks and ability to draw in ladies like bees to honey. But today … he was obviously refusing to take any kind of bate.

"We should go." He replied instead – his voice slightly brusque but ot cold or truly angry. "I would not want us to be late to our own ceremonies!"


	31. Chapter 31

Erik could not think of a time in his life when he had ever felt such anxiousness.

You would think that because he had married Arabella once before – and in front of a crowd of over two hundred observers! - he would feel quite serene and confident. He would not be putting on any performances … ad considering they had been lovers' for quite some weeks he no longer had to be petrified of his wedding night.

 _So … why am I so terrified?_ He asked himself as he walked along the street with Arabella on his arm.

"Tell me once more…" Arabella interrupted his thoughts abruptly. And he looked down to meet her eyes to realize with shock that she might be just as nervous as he was. "What is going to happen?"

"Well…" He took in a deep breath, glancing back at Nadir and Darius.

The servant was still carrying the package Erik could only assume contained the wedding rings he and Bella had ordered very shortly after she had accepted his proposal. The two of them had needed to travel for nearly a day just to reach a city large enough to have a reputable jeweler; and neither had any idea what the other had picked for a wedding band. What made it all the more nerve wracking was that they had not ordered _their own_ bands, but had ordered for _each other_ ; and would have no idea if the rings fit properly until the actual ring exchange! Nadir had offered to collect the rings on their behalf on his way to _Saintes Maries de la Mur_ to save the bride and groom another strenuous two-way journey.

"First we will have a very official little ceremony in an undoubtedly claustrophobic registration office. We will sign our names to a marriage license and certificate, and will be considered legally husband and wife. Afterward we will go to the church. A priest will speak Latin for the liturgy … but we will speak French for the vows. No doubt he will sing in an absolutely horrendous tone of voice that will bring me dangerously close to gouging out his-"

"Erik!" Arabella laughed, the tone amused and appalled and also revealing her nervous. "That is _horrible_! No violence on _our wedding day_!"

He was surprised into his own bout of laughter - a rare kind of laughter that expelled some of his nervous energy and garnered the attention of two women passing by. They saw his mask and quickly moved onward; but he barely noticed long enough to feel uncomfortable or affronted. He was simply too surprised at how easily Arabella made him smile … make him laugh.

He squeezed her arm.

"I do not deserve you." He admitted suddenly, his voice low and urgent. " _Ma Bella_ … You are so young, and good, and gentle, and beautiful. You have a whole life before you! Are you … are you certain about going through with this? Please understand … I want you to! I _desperately_ want you to! But will this not be ruining your life?"

Arabella looked up at him with a puzzled expression; clearly trying to understand where this bout of self-loathing and self-doubt had come from. He had managed to be so sincere and confident on the day of his proposal. He could not blame her for her surprise. But he had doubted himself from the very first moment he _ever_ realized he loved her. In spite of everything … perhaps because of everything… he just could not walk into the office of registry and chain Arabella to him without giving her a final chance to abandon him – as she should have many years ago.

"I …" She glanced around and then began to speak in Romani to make certain no one would understand her. "I love you, Erik. You are mine; and I am yours. There is no other choice to be made. W-why do you doubt me _now_?"

"You misunderstand me!" he insisted, following her lead but gently pulling her off to one side to speak in a low urgent tone. Darius and Nadir remained nearby, looking at them in confusion but still having sense enough to give them space and privacy. After a moment, Nadir frowned deeply and began muttering bitterly to Darius. But Erik paid him no mind. "This is not about doubting you, _ma belle_! But you know how difficult I am to live with! I would never want you to regret-"

"Stop."

Arabella's voice was so sharp that he actually drew away from her as if from a blow. He saw her eyes flash fire, and he swallowed thickly. He hated the pain that must have instigated her anger; knowing he had caused it.

"I _love_ you, you fool." She went on coolly. " _Do not_ do this. Not on our wedding day. Do not question me again as if I do not know my own mind!"

"But, Bella-"

"No." She drew her hand out of his – but backed away no further than that. "Tell me Erik … do you love me?"

"Of _course_ I-"

"Do you _want_ me to be your legal wife? To have a bond like we have _never_ had before? To know that nothing – literally _nothing_ – other than death can separate us?"

"More than _anything_!"

When Arabella lifted one hand, Erik found himself flinching away and closing his eyes. It was not because he thought Arabella would hit him. He just could not seem to convince his body that her touch – when she was angry – could possibly make him feel anything less than subhuman. And … well … maybe a part of him still could not help but expect a blow. He had, after all, just earned it beyond measure. But after a moment, when nothing had happened, he opened his eyes again and lifted his gaze to her beautiful young face.

 _She is so young! Everyone is going to think I have a child bride! What ridicule we will face in Trieste! How can I_ do _this to her?_

Arabella's hand was still up in the air between them. She had waited for him to recover from his brief anxiety; and only when their eyes again met did she touch his face. It was not a particularly gentle caress … she was still too hurt and angry by his insulation for that. But it was a touch of love and affection. And … it made a point. She was touching him out in public in a way that most people would never dare to show affection in front of others. Husbands and wives barely even kissed in public! It simply was not done!

"Do you think you will want your freedom?" she whispered. "Will you want someone purer?"

" _Never_!" It was his turn to feel anger rise over the anxiety – but he forced himself to keep it under strict control. " _ **Never**_ _, ma belle_! A man would have to be deaf, blind, _and_ dumb to ever want someone more perfect than you!"

Slowly she lowered her hand, and then tucked it back into the crook of his arm.

"Then no more questions." She stated simply.

He blinked hard; amazed at how suddenly she released both her anxiety and anger in order to turn into an utterly confident woman again. She looked as though she had just won an argument that had been conquered long before it had begun but had still been difficult to prove to her opponent.

Perhaps she had.

Swallowing thickly, he glanced at Darius and Nadir as they all continued onward.

"Will we exchange our rings at the registry; or the church?" she asked him curiously – as though he had never spoken of his doubts at all. It took Erik almost a full minute to be able to return to the topic at hand.

"We may exchange them in either place." He stated slowly. "It is considered more of a romantic gesture. If you wish to be grandiose about it … then we exchange them in the church. We … we could even pray to Saint Marie … if you wish; before or after we marry at the church. Asking for the blessing of the patron saint of gypsies … it could not hurt our chances at future happiness – could it?"

"I think that is a fine idea." She agreed with a new, brilliant smile.

In only a few more steps, they had reached the office building where the first legal steps would be taken to again bind them as husband and wife. Erik briefly touched his coat for the hundredth time since leaving the shack – making certain his identity papers were there. He would need to present them to the official. Both were excellent forgeries – one of them identifying Arabella as 'Mademoiselle Arabella Lyberia' so that marrying a woman who already had his same last name would not raise any eyebrows. Arabella had detested the idea of going by her fathers' name once more; but Erik had persuaded her. She would only need it for those few moments; and it would be easier to use a familiar name than it would be to invent a new one just for a single days' use.

They were greeted by a man around Erik's own age, with thick salt and pepper hair and a round, care worn face. He was clearly a man who did not work half so hard in life as he thought he did … but no doubt a lifetime of dealing with other people's legalities probably wore a man down after a while. Erik, himself, could barely stomach dealing with clients when he had been building houses for them.

Which, in retrospect, made him wonder if it really suited him to return to that career in Trieste. Still … it was easier than learning an entirely new and unreliable trade.

He handed over the papers when he was asked, and Nadir did the same with his own identity papers to prove who he was as a witness. All of them had come prepared with more than necessary. Erik wanted _nothing_ to stand in his way on the day he could make Arabella irrevocably his; in spite of his misgivings on her behalf.

"Very good…" the official murmured; looking bored and as though he wanted nothing more than to finish with the group of strangers and go home to a bottle of hard alcohol. "Now, Monsieur Sauveterre; if you would kindly remove your mask so I can properly identify you."

The room fell so quiet that Erik could almost make out conversations occurring on the other side of the building. Erik felt an immediate pressure on his chest, as though someone were using an enormous needle to inject him with lead. It was cold, and hard, and he immediately felt himself struggling to breathe normally. His entire body went ramrod straight, and he took an instinctive step back.

"I …" He glanced at Arabella, who was staring at the official in utter disbelief. Then he returned his eyes to the man himself. "Monsieur … you have read my identity papers. You can understand why I wear this mask. I… couldn't possibly take it off… please."

"I understand, Monsieur." The man said, glancing up at him with what was obviously forced patience. "But you could quite literally be _anyone_ behind that mask – masquerading as Monsieur Sauveterre."

The idea of anyone wanting to pretend to be him almost made Erik laugh; but he couldn't. He could barely even more. His chest felt even tighter than a moment before.

"I am afraid I do not give private shows, _Monsieur_." He said slowly, his hands curling into a matching set of tight fists. "You will have to humor me in this."

Sighing, the man standing across from them at his desk removed the spectacles he'd until that moment been wearing, and dropped all their identifying papers onto the surface before him.

"Without positive identification of my own, I cannot officiate the marriage." He told Erik as if speaking to an incredibly dense child. "It will only take a few seconds."

"Erik…" Arabella stepped closer to his side, putting a hand on his arm in support. "You do not have to do this. We can go home … have a lovely supper with our friends. We don't have to-"

"NO!" Erik exclaimed, looking at her in half panic. "No! I can't just walk away from this! He will simply have to make an _exception_!"

"No exceptions." The official stated simply – but firmly. "I cannot risk my job by cutting corners, Sir."  
"No one is going to stare at my husband!" Arabella flared. "I would rather live _in sin_!"

"Madam- _mademoiselle_ …" Nadir stepped forward uncertainly. "It will take only moments. That is what he said. Erik… surely a few seconds behind a closed and locked door? We can close the window curtains… Only this man need see you – and just enough to be certain of your identity…"

Erik glanced at the window, backing away from the man who wanted to humiliate him … to force him into revealing his horrible face.

 _Everyone wants a look at The Living Corpse!_ He thought furiously. The fists at his sides tightened. _Everyone wants to stare!_

He _couldn't_ reveal his face to the official! If he did, then the man would _never_ allow him to marry Arabella! No one would let a monster like him marry such a sweet girl as Arabella! And Erik was fully aware that comparatively, Arabella was a child… Compared to him, at least. It wouldn't even matter that older men married younger women all the time!

"Erik …"

His spinning mind was brought to an abrupt halt by the softness of Arabella's voice. His eyes darted down to her concerned face, her hand still on his arm. He had not even noticed that she had not allowed him to pull out of _her_ reach. Her face was full of such sincerity … such cold serenity.

"You do not have to do this." She insisted.

"No…" he repeated – although his voice came out much weaker. "I want to be your husband, Bella … truly your husband… I …" He glanced at the official. "There is no chance for you to … make an exception? I assure you, Monsieur … your reaction would only embarrass you!"

"I have a stronger spine than that, Sir." The man insisted, his face twisting in obvious sympathy. "Your friend is correct in suggesting we could close off the rest of the world. But there must be enough light for me to see you clearly – even if it is brief."

Erik looked down at Arabella again. She stood ever-so-patiently; waiting to see what his choice would be. There was no judgement whatsoever at the thought they might not carry through with the wedding.

 _She loves me enough to live in sin … likely enough to share a cage with me! How can I love her less? I couldn't let myself do that to her!_

"I will do it…" he whispered. "Nadir … please…"

The Daroga instantly moved to lock the office door and pull the curtain – leaving it open just wide enough to let some light fall through. Arabella slipped her hand down Erik's arm until she could entangle her fingers with his and squeeze gently. In spite of her support and concern, Erik could see that his decision had made her eyes light up. Her skin nearly glowed with pride and love and happiness.

He turned as the official lit an oil lamp behind his desk to give him better light to see by. It was not all that much more than what was already available; but it still made Erik flinch briefly. He looked up at the man who held Erik's future in his hands.

"I will take my mask off for exactly eight seconds, Monsieur." He said firmly. "If this is not enough for you, then it will have to do … And if you try to run, or refuse to marry us, then I swear-"

"Erik!" Nadir snapped in warning, cutting his friend off.

The official merely nodded, as though Erik had said nothing threatening at all. Perhaps Nadir had cut him off quick enough so that the man did not take it for granted what was being implied.

Taking in a deep breath, Erik stepped closer to the desk. His shoulders were tense, his spine stiff, and his hand shaking as he lifted it to his mask. There was a long moment during which he tried to brace himself appropriately. The hand he still had entwined with Arabella's squeezed tightly – no doubt causing a rather large amount of pain. But she made no sound. She held his hand just as tightly in return.

Then he took the mask off, closing his eyes to avoid looking at this man who was probly turning pale and then green. It would not have surprised him in the least if the man fainted and fell to the floor. But there were merely eight seconds of silence – interrupted only by the soft sounds of the official scratching notes onto a piece of paper with a pen.

"Thank you, Monsieur Sauveterre." The official murmured.

Erik slipped his mask quickly back into place, his body going instantly watery so that he groped for the nearest chair. Arabella finally released his hand; but quickly took him by his upper arms as he sank into the cushioned seat with a quavering exhale that was loud enough to nearly echo around the room. Nadir opened the curtains once more, and the official across from him pulled open a drawer to bring out a small glass and a bottle of liquor.

Erik looked at the man through half opened eyes, watching as he poured a drink and then came around to offer it to him. His face was cramped slightly in concern or disgust; but he did not seem put-off enough to instantly make Erik bristle. He was too worn out by the unmasking to feel properly angry even if the man looked completely and utterly disgusted. The official had not fainted, not screamed, and not run. He had not crossed himself, or muttered even a single word to indicate a bad reaction to seeing Erik's face. _And_ he was offering Erik a drink after going through such a dreaded moment!

Erik could respect that.

"Thank you…" he managed to murmur as he took the drink and downed it in one and a half swallows. A drop missed his mouth and he wiped at his lower lip with the back of his thumb. As he offered the glass back, he managed to turn his look of exhausted relief into a renewed hard glower. "You will marry us now?"

"Yes, Monsieur." The official assured. "I told you that I have no reason to refuse you."

He looked at Arabella – who stood behind Erik and to one side with her hands massaging the nape of his neck soothingly. He gave Erik a slow smile; eyebrows upraised.

"Lucky man…" he murmured. "Shall we begin?"

Nodding, Erik forced himself back onto feet that still trembled.

In only a few minutes, Erik was leaving the office with Arabella on his arm and a signed certificate in his hand. He paused briefly on the steps outside, holding it out to show Arabella and his friend.

"Monsieur Erik Sauveterre and Madame Arabella Sauveterre…" he read with a growing smile. He suddenly felt lighter than he ever had in his life. His almost stunned eyes turned down to Arabella's brilliant gaze. "I like the sound of it!"

It was completely unlike him, but with an exuberant laugh he turned to lift Arabella right up into an embrace. He spun her around once so that she grabbed at the veiled hat on her head to keep it in place. Both were laughing. He loved watching as she let her head fall back and her eyes closed in joyous abandon.

"It is official!" he continued as he finally put Arabella back down onto her feet without trying to kiss her. He might be feeling unusually open and happy … but he was not foolish enough to be that taboo out in public. Especially since he could never kiss her the way he wished to in public and while wearing his mask. "There is no getting away from me now, _ma belle_! Shall we go receive God's undoubtedly begrudging blessing as well, now?"

Arabella continued laughing as he turned without even waiting for an answer, all but dragging her along in his excitement with an arm about her waist. Considering they were clearly a small wedding party, he refused to look around and take in whatever disapproving glances they might be getting. No one could really begrudge a new husband and wife a little joy on the day of their union!

"Erik … the rings…" she protested weakly after they had hurried breathlessly towards the church. "The rings…"

"Nadir can hold them another five minutes." Erik reasoned. The giddiness had been building in him rather than passing; and he nearly dragged Arabella at a job towards the church. "Come!"

"I have never seen you like this!" Nadir laughed behind his friend.

" _No one_ has!" Arabella replied over her shoulder with a laugh.

"And never will again!" Erik forewarned. " _Ma belle_ … do you wish to pray to Sainte Marie first, or afterward?"

They rushed into the church; barely containing themselves enough to lower their laughter and quips to a low and reverent murmur. Arabella grew still for a moment, seeming to be breathless due more to the sight of the church than she had been from nearly running. Erik could see that the priest who would marry them in the sight of God was praying in front of the altar; two boys kneeling beside him.

"I thought it would be grander…" Arabella finally admitted – making Erik cover his mouth and clear his throat in order to hide further laughter.

"I suppose anything after the Opera House would seem a bit plain…" he admitted – trying to be kind. "But this building used to be a fortress, _mira kom_. I-"

He paused, watching as three people came out of a side chamber. Their heads were appropriately bowed out of reverence; and had obviously just finished praying. But what caught Erik's attention was their dress. It was appropriate for church – technically. But all the clothing was quite colorful.

Well … he knew where the statue of Sainte Marie was… The exiting trio was a group of gypsies who had surely come from the camp near his rented shack.

Arabella nodded to the trio as they passed by; but they kept their eyes averted. They seemed too worried about drawing too much attention to themselves. They did not even noticed how Arabella shared their somewhat dark coloring and a few other minor physical features. They just saw a strangely dressed quartet of _gaje_ people.

"Monsieur Sauveterre?"

The priest had stood from his own prayers in front of the altar, and was looking at Erik and his entourage with a slightly stunned expression.

"Perhaps the prayers to Saintes Marie ought to wait…" Erik whispered to Arabella as he escorted her up the aisle. "He seems to have forgotten I was going to be wearing a mask … and he may not care for the Romany pilgrims…"

Arabella nodded soundlessly; accepting this decision without argument.

This time, he felt no ill ease. The priest would have no reason to demand that Erik unmask himself. The certificate Erik carried was more than enough proof of identity. Especially since the ink on it was still virtually wet! He was prepared to stand as long as it took to go through the mass as the priest required. Prepared to offer an "Amen" or and "I do".

He had never known such patience in his entire life. The mass was seemingly endless and dull – and he'd been right to assume the priest would have an appalling singing voice. Luckily, one of the boys had a rather astonishingly good soprano voice; particularly for a boy clearly in the middle of puberty.

When it came time to exchange rings, Erik turned to Nadir – who offered his specially made ring out so that Erik might place it on Arabella's finger. For a moment he held it between them, offering her the chance to see it clearly. He watched her closely; holding his breath and waiting to see whether or not it would please her.

Compared to her phoenix ring, it was quite simplistic. But it was still detailed and beautiful. It was a braided band, each braid made of yellow, white, and rose gold respectively. It was nothing more than that; except that the ring was so slim. Such small masterpieces always astounded Erik … and he knew he had chosen correctly when Arabella's eyes seemed to almost literally glow.

"I, Erik…" he all but whispered as he finally slipped the ring onto her right hand finger – echoing the priests' instructions. "…take you, Arabella, to be my wife. I promise to be true to you, in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health. I will love you, and honor you, all the days of my life."

Darius murmured something briefly to Nadir where they stood in support of their friends. Arabella gave them a brief side scowl that was considerably unaffected due to the smirk she tried to suppress. After a moment she held a hand out to Nadir, and he dug out yet another ring from the package Darius had been holding for so long. Erik looked down to see her slip the ring onto his right hand finger; and he felt his eyes widen slightly.

It was hardly the kind of ring that he would have ever bought himself – or expected anyone to buy for their groom. He had been living so peacefully in a house with Arabella that he had almost forgotten she was Romany by birth. He certainly should have expected something … different. And this ring was! It was a beautiful ring of what looked like sterling silver, inlaid with what seemed to be a garnet and amber. It was not very intricate – but it was very, very different.

It was unique… just like them and their love.

He lifted his golden eyes to her caramel ones, and smile gently at her.

"I, Arabella, take you, Erik…"

Her voice was as hushed as his own had been. But he heard her repeat her vows loud and clear – with an ever-lightening heart.

This time … he did not care if he could not kiss her properly. When the priest invited him to, he reached out to stroke Arabella's cheek with his newly decorated hand … and leaned in to caress her lips with his own.


	32. Chapter 32

**A/N: Hey, guys! Sorry this has taken so very,** _ **very**_ **long! My computer is deteriorating more and more ach day – and obviously that has been absolutely killing my creativity. I more or less have the ending in my head – but having a computer that shuts down every ten minutes on it's own, and shift buttons that don't work or other buttons that randomly stick make it nearly impossible to continue. I really wanted to continue the scene in this book but unfortunately I SUCK at real action scenes. It will likely be quite a long time before I can actually post yet again… But once I get over that hump I sincerely hope I can finish the story without further hitches… Please review. I miss reviews.**

Arabella looked over the contents of the wagon that Erik had helped her purchase. Most of it came from the butchers' shop and a small cart selling produce. But Arabella had also managed to convince him to buy several yards of heavy winter material so that it might be made into winter outerwear.

She knew it was going to be difficult to convince the Romany tribe to accept the gifts. But she hoped once she began speaking to them in their mostly secret language and treating them with the knowledge only a fellow Romany could possibly have that it would become easier. Gypsies in France were treated badly – sometimes violently. Usually they were expelled from the country. Their children were taken away and raised in _Gaje_ homes so that they would become productive members of society.

Arabella had spent thirty years slowly coming to understand how family-oriented – how _community_ oriented – the gypsy people truly were. She had known it during her first life. She'd seen it with her own eyes. But because of her father she had never been able to feel a part of that community. Not _really_. But years of observing the world and being able to look back on the past with a bit of objectivity helped her to realize how much they'd _wanted_ to help her. They'd _tried_ to make her one of them. But her father had raised her to feel like an outsider. He had isolated her in the only ways available to him.

And, of course, even gypsies did not believe they had any right to interfere with a man and how he chose to run his little family. Over time they had slowly been forced to give up their attempts at aide. They had left it to her grandmother to be the only assistance Arabella could receive – because she was the only one Arabella still trusted after all that time. No one in the camp had understood just how far her fathers' abuse went … she knew that now… otherwise they would have probably one against their own believe system … and killed him.

After thinking they felt nothing but apathy and disgust for her; she finally understood that they had just felt helpless… and their guilt had driven them to look the other way after years of fruitless trying.

It was time to give back to the community that would have saved her … if they only could have.

"That is a great deal of food for two people." Nadir said looking over her shoulder. "Are you planning to hide away in your holiday home for an entire winter without returning to the city?"

"Of course not." Erik scoffed, waiting to help Arabella up onto the wagon seat. "This is just to share an entire feast with the passengers on the train we take next week!"

Arabella smiled at him impishly, and Erik gave her a cheeky wink. His good humor since the beginning of their wedding ceremonies had not diminished even slightly. Any fight he'd given her over all the food and cloth had been nothing but half-hearted and teasing.

She turned to look back at Nadir and Darius with a more solemn expression.

"You will come and see us?" she pressed. "Once we are settled in?"

"Of course we will." Nadir promised, placing his hands on her shoulders and leaning in to kiss her forehead. "Just … do not take too long in doing that. I am not as young as I once was, you now."

He stepped aside and went to talk quietly with Erik for a moment, leaving her to say an awkward farewell to Darius – who kissed her hand with a polite bow and sincere smile. He was always so aloof; the perfect servant that would be friendly enough but never quite familiar. Arabella was just reaching her husbands' side when he surprised her – and Nadir – by offering the older Persian an abrupt, strong, sincere, and painfully long embrace…

Men did not generally embrace – especially not in public.

Arabella tried to swallow the sudden lump in her throat as Erik abruptly released Nadir just as quickly as he'd grabbed his old friend. He took Arabella's hand in preparation for helping her get up onto the wagon bench … but turned back to face a still speechless and stunned Nadir.

"We can stay…" he offered. "We can see you off…"

"It will not be nearly as impressive to see us off on a coach as it would be to see us off at the train station." Nadir said sternly. "Besides – I would cry to see this beautiful lady waving a handkerchief after us as smoke ruined her stunning gown."

They didn't dispute his excuse – even though it was a bald faced lie.

This felt far too final… as if it would be the last time they all ever met. And it just _might_ be. Arabella had spent so much time thinking about her future with Erik that she'd almost forgotten her husband and her only friends were much older than she was… What if this really was the last time she saw Nadir and Darius?

"You will write and tell me everything about Trieste." Nadir told her sternly, covering his bittersweet emotions.

"Yes." Arabella murmured simply.

And then she was on the wagon seat beside Erik … and they rode away without looking back.

They were on the edges of town before Erik sat up in sudden awareness, making Arabella look around anxiously. She turned her body to look behind them and see if something had happened to the contents of their cart; or if Nadir or Darius were calling for them due to some forgotten farewell detail. But nothing seemed wrong. Curiously she turned to look at Erik with narrowed eyes, and one raised eyebrow.

"What's wrong?" she demanded.

Erik was staring straight ahead of them.

"A large group left down … somewhat recently." He told her, motioning with his chin. "Look at the tracks. Hoof and foot prints. "

Arabella thought for a moment. People went down this road regularly. Of course they did. It was only further out that traffic headed in a different direction from where they were headed. She could think of nothing to worry her.

"Well … there were Romany people in town…" she tried to soothe him. "At least a few of them had to have horses."

"They reached town before we did … They did not have any horses at the church." Erik stated firmly. "Something … something feels off… "

She trusted his instinct, but Arabella still didn't understand.

"Can we go back to the cottage?" she asked. "Is it safe?"

Grimly, Erik took in a deep breath.

"Let's find out…"

They did not have to get within sight of the meadow or their little shack. It was easy enough to hear the screams – and smell the smoke.

Erik swore in a string of languages – some of which she actually understood. He yanked on the reigns and their horse swerved off the road and into the bumpy grass. He was headed towards a small stand of shrubs and trees. Arabella cried out wordlessly and held tight onto her seat. The ground was far from smooth, and they would be very lucky not to wind up with a broken axle.

"What are you doing?" she demanded in a shrill voice.

"Get off the wagon, Bella." Erik nearly growled as he drew the wagon to a shuddering halt out of direct view of the road. It was not particularly good cover; but it was very close to sunset by then. Whatever was happening down the road, it likely wouldn't be over before the sun went down and hid them completely.

Arabella did as he said, watching as he leaped down onto the ground and rushed around to her. His grip on her arm as he began tugging her towards the tall grass beneath their feet was nearly crushing.

"Erik, _what_ are you _doing_?" she insisted.

"The _smart_ thing." Her husband ground out between angrily clenched teeth. "I told you a large group came out here. Do you understand? _Do you understand me_?"

He was trying to drag her under the wagon – presumably into protective hiding. But Arabella resisted his grip, staring down at him in disbelief and horror.

"A hunt…?" she breathed. It felt as though she'd suddenly been plunged back into the icy lake at the Temple of Lovers in Paris. "Erik! Those poor people – the children - they need help!"

"What help can _you_ be?" Erik asked her harshly, pulling her so close that their noses – her nose and the part of his mask that covered his undeveloped one - almost touched. "You're no fighter! I protect _what is mine_. This wagon, its contents, and _you_ are all I have any reason to care about. Now _get_ _**down**_! We'll stay here until they leave - no matter how long it takes! Whatever is in that shack can be replaced."

For a long moment, Arabella stared at her husband. Then she eased her arm out of his grip and backed away.

"Even with your fighting skills, you won't go and help them?" she demanded incredulously. "You can take out ten more than any one man or woman in that camp can! There are _**children**_ there, Erik! You _know_ what happens in a gypsy hunt! _Any_ kind of purging! People will be raped, maimed, killed!"

She was not a fighter … but she could not stand there and do nothing. She could not cower and hide as she used to do when trying to keep out of her fathers' reach. It was one thing to do that when she was the only one in danger … but she could not let those horrible things happen to anyone else.

"If you will not help them, then I will." She stated almost coldly.

She did not judge Erik. She understood he was not as young as he had once been. He could not face a fight against an unknown number of opponents. And he had never _once_ been in a fight meant to protect another person as well as himself. It had come close to that, while traveling from Russia to Persia with Nadir… but the Persians had been in their tent rather than out in the open with the assailant Erik very easily defeated.

But she couldn't stand there listening to those screams and do nothing. She could not just hide under a wagon and behind not quite green bushes. The smell of smoke and the sound of suffering and rage poked at memories better left alone. It was bad enough that Adnah –

 _Adnah?_

In the few moments she had been straightening to stalk out onto the road and towards the gypsy encampment, she heard Erik scrambling to get out from beneath the wagon to catch up with her. But he nearly bowled her over onto the ground when her thought of Adnah drew her up short.

He'd said he was going to leave after the wedding … but how soon? Could he maybe scout ahead so that she could have some advantage over the villagers attacking the gypsies? Maybe if she could get Adnah's help, then Erik would be more inclined to jump into the fray…

But there was no answer. He was already gone.

It panged her unexpectedly; but she let it go in order to pick up her pace before Erik could recover from nearly running her down.

"Do you want to die on your wedding day?" he asked angrily, grabbing desperately for her arm.

Arabella jerked violently out of his grip.

"No." She admitted, not turning to look at him. If she looked up into his masked face, she knew he could convince her to stop and go back. He could win her over because she hated so much to upset him. But then she would be eaten alive by her own conscience for the rest of her life.

Erik didn't have that. His conscience rarely woke up and scolded him for his behavior. She was lucky he ever consulted it in their relationship. He just wasn't used to dealing with other people. He could listen to the entire Romany tribe and – although he'd feel bad for them – sleep like a baby for the rest of his days. He would feel he'd done the right thing.

She couldn't do that.

Erik cursed again – this time in languages she understood perfectly well. Maybe that was the point, but cursing had never particularly bothered her. She just liked picking on him for doing it during lighter situations.

"All right…" he finally sighed heavily, sounding resigned and aggravated. But there was a thoughtful lilt to his tone. His strategic mind was already in motion.


	33. Chapter 33

**A/N: When it's not computer issues, it's complete writers' block. I was not looking forward to this scene, and I am not looking forward to the next chapter or two, either. But our story will be coming to a close. HOpefully this year. Don't forget to review!**

 **And not that Phantom fans will care, but I have my own YouTube Channel now called LeadingBlind. Check me out if you'd like. It's mostly me answering genre based questions thus far. I'm still having computer issues, and that's all the worse for trying to make videos.**

 **And here ... we ... go!**

Erik turned from Arabella, removing his formal coat and tossing it over the side of the wagon as he knelt. It wouldn't have mattered, but he was glad the ground under his knees was dry as he knelt down and reached beneath the wagon for the cutlasses he kept hidden there at all times. Normally they were a last resort sort of weapon. If he was somehow disarmed, he always planned to roll beneath the wagon and retrieve the short swords. But now he would need them as a first line of defense.

He'd bought these shortly after escaping Persia – selling off one of his honestly stolen jewels in order to afford the weapons. Since that time in his life, Erik had kept all his weapons in good condition … but he had not used these blades in all that time. It had been over twenty years...

He backed away from the wagon, rising to his feet and glancing towards Arabella just to be certain she wasn't close enough to sustain injury. She probably hadn't known he was keeping the swords there. Her shocked and frightened face certainly seemed to confirm this suspicion.

"Bella … stay here." he pleaded, although his voice was growing distant and cold. He reached under the seat of the wagon where he'd been perched and drew out a _ before shoving it into her shocked hands. He had to hold it there a long moment before he could trust it wouldn't tumble from her unprepared fingers.

"Unhook the horses. We may need to flee after … we need all the speed we can get. If anyone comes within spitting distance – shoot them!""

"No!" Arabella shook her head, squaring her shoulders in determination. "You're not going alone!"

"Unless you want me to kill you myself, then I suggest you stay here." Erik said icily, already beginning to stride purposefully away. "If you're foolish enough to follow me; at least have the brains to give me fighting room – and stay back! Back and _quiet_! You have no idea what I do in order to fight!"

He would normally have been gentler with her. He'd have been explained why he wanted her to stay so far away from him. But he could already feel Azrael awakening in the darkest parts of his soul … desperately thirsty for the taste of blood.

 _My prey lies ahead... and none shall live..._

He immediately forgot – at least in the front of his mind – about Arabella. He removed his mask and threw it over his shoulder towards the wagon, hunching down low towards the ground to lope in the direction of the screams. There was light coming across the ground. A fire was burning out of control somewhere – and he almost had a second to wonder if the house he and Bella had been planning to sleep in that night would survive this assault.

He was low to the ground, his weapons at the ready, and his unblinking eyes focused strictly ahead of him. His gait was like that of an animal rushing towards the sounds of wounded prey. Anyone that looked in his direction would see a demon coming at them … a werewolf.

 _Yes … a werewolf. These back-country fools would still believe in such things!_ Azrael hissed in his mind. _Use it!_

The smell of blood, smoke, and even urine reached him almost the moment the destroyed campsite came into view. He could see a woman running in his general direction. She was already half-naked and being pursuit by a despicable _gaje_ who was _laughing_. That was how these things went. The townspeople would maim, rape, and yes … even kill.

Well … if these men thought they knew something about torment … they had never met Azrael.

The woman saw Erik as he took the first truly running steps forward, and she shrieked in terror. Her arms and hands went up to cover her face as she darted aside and out of his way. Erik lifted one of his swords and prepared to slay her pursuer. The look of pure unholy terror on his face made Erik feel a rush of pure power flood his blood. He could imagined what the man saw – his eyes seeming to burn like coals in the light of the unchecked fire. What little he had for lips were drawn back into a snarl like that of a wolf going for the throat. Then, of course, there was his general hideousness.

It was the last thing the man saw as Erik used the two cutlasses simultaneously like an enormous pair of shears – and left his victim nearly decapitated on the ground before striding forward into the melee.

To Erik, the motions felt unhurried, calm, and calculated. But he knew from the past that time was truly racing along. He was moving through the encampment with what would seem like superhuman speed on such an adrenaline-drenched field of war, giving off howls of bloodthirsty eagerness and giving into the idea Azrael had given him. He had the theorized lope of a werewolf, and he used the face he normally kept so meticulously covered to shock those that might still dare come at him.

The Angel of Death did not chase after prey. He let his prey come to him. And as victims fell to his blade and blood flew into the air – often splashing him in the face – Erik would sigh in satisfaction. Gasps and groans escaped him like the noises of a man experiencing the ultimate of pleasures. Each death brought a fresh rush of endorphins.

The best was out of its' cage...

A child screamed somewhere over his shoulder, and Azrael paused in his hunt. Somewhere deep inside, Erik's consciousness stirred … his conscience grabbed Azrael by the wrists and tried to hold him back..

Had he maimed a child without seeing?

The world and reality came back to Erik in a abrupt rush of noise, scent, and color. He suddenly felt thrown back into his body from a great distance; and the impact was jarring. His chest was heaving painfully with the effort to breathe. His arms ached with fatigue and strain. Sweat stung his eyes. His fine wedding clothes were wet with blood – torn by the weapons that the villagers and even a few Romany had attempted to use against him. His body stayed upright with such effort that he knew he would have to rest soon or simply die of exertion.

He tried to remember the details of the fight. Tried to think straight at all. What had brought him back to reality? Had he simply pushed himself too far? He could vaguely remember half a dozen idiots who'd crossed his path … But had there been more? How many innocents?

 _Innocents...?_ his conscience whispered – as if coming out from a daze. There was something about innocents.

He remembered the sound of a child's cry.

 _Did we hurt a child?_ His boggled mind demanded. It didn't even occur to him for many hours that he was thinking of Azrael as a completely separate entity instead of as a part of him. The natural chemicals coursing through his system were disorienting and caused brief elation – not unlike the injection of morphine. But as he came to himself, the thing he considered Azrael snarled a protest – not wanting to be chained up again. It was so dangerous in times like these … Trying to control the urge to continue in the slaughter took up too much of his attention. Thinking beyond it was almost impossible. But he forced his eyes to focus on the world as something other than his natural enemy.

He took a bare glance over his shoulder – expecting a child would more likely be crying over its' mother or father … someone the mob had injured or killed before Erik could intervene. He wasn't _entirely_ wrong. There _were_ children behind him – a whole cluster of them. But in the middle of the group of children stood a swaying female gypsy with blood in her hair and a glazed expression of shock and horror in her eyes.

The snarling Azrael grew abruptly silent within, and Erik nearly dropped the cutlasses in his hands as he lurched towards the group staring at him and sobbing. The cacophony of children's' sobs was something Erik had never been able to endure – but he forced his way towards the center of the noise even as their weeping turned to shrieking. Several scattered away from his path in desperation; but Erik ignored them entirely. He was aware that it was his unmasked face they feared – but for the moment he didn't even care.

It was strange not to care as he grabbed his wife's sagging shoulders – even though she was carrying two small children that could barely walk. He could only assume she'd taken them from one or more of the elder children to help them huddle together and stay safe.

"Bella!" he gasped, staring into her stunned expression. "Bella, are you hurt? Where is the gun! Who hurt you?"

"He's dead."

There was a boy of about fourteen standing behind Arabella with his back to her – watching for other incoming enemies. The boy's posture made Erik glance over his own shoulders – remembering the tenuous situation they were still all in. The Romany child was carrying the gun he'd given his wife to protect herself and the horses. There was blood on the boy's hands – suggesting that maybe it had been used as a bludgeon rather than a firearm.

"She was trying to help my brother." the boy stated without looking over his shoulder at Erik – which is probably how he remained so cal next to such a vicious killer. "Fumbled with it. I picked it up and got him good right here."

The boy touched the spot right at the base of his head. If Erik hadn't just done far worse to at least a dozen other souls, he might have winced in sympathy pain.

Erik peered into the eyes of his bride, and realized she was shrinking away from him. Not violently … not with any real conviction. But she leaned away from him in obvious wariness, and he released her as if she'd suddenly turned into red-hot iron.

" _Ma Belle_..." he tried desperately to make her look directly at him – but she still seemed stunned. "Bella! Look at me!"

"Monstrous..." Arabella whimpered – clinging so tightly to the babes in her arms that they squirmed uncomfortably – still screaming and straining away from Erik.

"Damn it – someone take the babies!" he snapped at the children who hadn't run off entirely.

In very little time it was obvious Arabella – with her Romany features – had earned their trust and they thought she was protecting them. A girl of about eleven came forward to take one of the children – but then rushed off again so fast that Erik almost wondered if she was going to survive the night after nearly tripping on three dead bodies and a lot of debris. But when Erik tried to snatch the remaining child and place it on the ground out of his way, Arabella whimpered and hugged it closer to her. She didn't seem to notice that the baby was trying to get away from her – and Erik.

"Arabella!" he tried again. He was in so much pain, and fighting still to entirely catch his breath. But his wife stood in clothes that rightly belonged on the floor of their little shack – discarded but in perfectly good condition. Instead, they were tattered and filthy at the hem – and her sleeve had been torn in a struggle. Someone had grabbed at the laces of her bodice at some point, for they sagged due to damage. Her hair was a mess, and it was getting tacky from the blood coming out of some unseen injury.

Erik snapped his fingers in front of her eyes, and she stared at him with abrupt intensity.

"It's horrible..." she whimpered.

 _She sounds like the child I found by the river!_ He thought in horror.

"Monsters... all monsters..."  
Erik fell away from her, his mouth open and slack with shock. He didn't understand. He … was a monster? She'd told him to stand up for these poor idiots, and he was now a _monster_?

 _My gypsy princess … my wife … I … I did what she said!_ His mind exclaimed. _I did this for her! And she calls me a monster!_

"Take the children to the shack." he commanded, his voice becoming cool and obstinate. He reached out to touch the fourteen or so year old boys' shoulder. The young man flinched but didn't move otherwise. "Take my wife and these children to that little house just there." he ordered – pointing to what ought to have been his honeymoon suite. "Keep anyone out that you don't trust. Take in as many as you want. Use whatever you need for the injured... I'll be right back."

He had to retrieve his mask … the wagon and horses. He had to search for any wounded stragglers that might have escaped this fight and could contact authorities. He had to cover his tracks. Bella would not appreciate being chased by the law.

Whatever she thought of him; he was not about to leave her in the company of untrustworthy strangers. People that had once willfully ignored the traumas of her childhood. Surely this tribe was no better than hers had been. He would not leave her under the scrutiny of police that would want to pluck her mind clean of all information about how he worked and where he might flee – although surely Arabella didn't know him quite well enough to ever guess _that_.

She had called him a monster … and why shouldn't she?  
As he numbly picked his way across the bloody meadow towards the road, he could see the damage he'd inflicted. Not all of it had been caused by him – no. But still … he'd done a majority of it. And it had been brutal and gruesome.

 _I am a monster._

He began trembling as he all but stumbled onto the dirt road leading back to the wagon. He felt cold and clammy. Covered in a cold sweat. His stomach started swirling uncomfortably, and he knew that in only a minute or two he was going to be sick. He'd enjoyed several alcoholic drinks after the wedding ceremonies, and now the champagne and wine combination was going to -

He lurched to the far side of the road – not wanting to step in his own disgusting vomit on the way back from the hiding place of his wagon. He was sobbing … sobbing hard as the cold sick fear overwhelmed him.

 _Ma belle … ma belle … you begged me! You_ begged _me to do this! I don't understand!_


	34. Chapter 34

Arabella's instinct during the attempted gypsy purging had not really been one of thought. But as she stayed as close as she dared to Erik while he fought, she had seen the children getting separated from their parents in the melee. Some of them were already alone, running and stumbling – a few even so young that they could barely stand on two feet – about in utter confusion. Bella had lunged for just one such child left feebly trying to crawl over its' mothers dead body.

The sight of the poor woman's bloody corpse had been far, _far_ worse than anything Erik was leaving behind in his bloodthirsty wake. Erik was being defensive and methodical – even if a mad gleam had entered his eyes. This butchery had been methodical too – methodically cruel. Not fast and simple and mostly painless. But lingering and meant to cause pain. Bella even wondered if the poor woman had been raped with the child in her arms and her wounds bleeding out because her clothes were in such an odd disarray.

She'd been trying to use the skirt of her wedding gown to wipe the poor baby clean of its' mothers tacky half-dried blood when the young boy had appeared and tried to pull it away.

"Let go!" he shrieked. "Let go of my brother!"

"I don't want to hurt him!" Bella promised, trembling from the overwhelming sense of danger and familiarity this scene was causing. Flashes of memories were tumbling through her mind, although her memories were mostly feelings of dread, terror, and sorrow rather than fully-fledged images. The poor mutilated woman … the bloody child … the young boy protecting his family as if he were the man of the house... It all brought so much back without clarifying any half-buried memories. She clung tightly to the child, afraid of releasing it even to this clearly well-meaning boy. "Let me help you! My husband and I want to help you! Are there other children? Help me get them! Help me get them and I'll try to keep you-"

That had been when the blow came to her head. Bella had fallen hard like a rock, lightening flashing through her skull and fire racing down her neck. The pistol she'd been holding in one hand while simultaneously propping the baby under his butt tumbled from her grip to the ground. She groaned, trying to fall on her side so that she couldn't crush the baby in her arms. Somewhere in the distance, Erik was giving out terrifying howls that made him sound like some creature out of Hell. Dimly she wondered if his voice was echoing or just being thrown.

Over her briefly limp form, the adolescent boy who'd come for his little brother struggled, grunting with a man Bella never even saw until he was dead. She didn't see him take up the gun. All she could assume later was that he'd aimed it at the man, and the sight of a firearm had startled her assailant long enough for the boy to get in a really good wallop.

She recovered reasonably fast; but her mind was in even further confusion. She struggled back to her feet, one hand clutching the baby to her breast and the other seeking out blindly for the gun. The sun had sunk below the horizon, so there was still plenty of general light – but on the ground were deep shadows like black ink. A hand gripped her by the elbow, helping her to stand, and she had looked up to see the boy peering at her worriedly.

"Let me have my brother." he insisted again. Bella had seen his face splattered in blood – but sweat was already washing the few droplets away. She looked down and saw her husbands' gun in his hand and decided to let him keep it.

"I'll carry him." she told the boy. "Other children. We need to get the others. Will you help me?"

There was no thought. It was just the simple phrase that kept echoing through her mind in her grandfathers' voice.

 _Bella … mira chavi … Where are the others? Adnah! Be a good man and help me get the others! Yes, yes! We take them to the river! Hurry!_

The feeling of being a small helpless child was overwhelming. There was no room to be embarrassed about her complete lack of observational skills or fighting skills. She had been blindsided by an attacker because she was not a fighter. Erik often teased her about this, pointing out that she was not meant to fight for herself. That she was stouthearted and well-meaning; but would never survive a battle if it came down to it. She was simply too gentle, in his mind, to bring harm to another person even if they meant harm to her or people she loved.

"What's your name?" she demanded of the boy, glancing around to see that Erik had made it dozens of yards away. Very few assailants had remained near her and the boy, given the apparent monster that had entered their own monstrous midst's.

"Tonio." The boy was now staring down at his mothers' body, and Bella could suddenly see how young he really was.

It didn't occur to her how close in age they were physically. Only three or so years apart, really...

"Then help me, Tonio, if you know where the others would be."  
He had. He'd guided her with the pistol held like a club in one white-knuckled hand. They'd gathered all the children they could, often passing off the babies to those who could walk without tripping all over themselves. Some were bleeding, and it didn't pass Bella's horrified notice that at least one of them simply fell to the ground and got left behind. But by then she'd had other concerns. She'd been trying to herd those who were still mobile away from those who still meant them harm. Tried to get them somewhat closer to Erik, intending to keep the children to his back as much as possible and have the older capable children guarding the younger ones from the rear.

 _It's what grandfather had done. He, father, and Bunica, had taken responsibility for the children..._

 _Bella … here... you hide down here. Yaakov, you stay with her. I need to get the others hidden. Keep My Jewel here..._

 _Yes. Bella. Come on, honey. It's all right. Your grandfather will be all right._

But he hadn't been all right, Bella suddenly remembered. Again she flashed to the memory Adnah had uncovered that morning. The tribe … it was far too big just to have been her own group. Had they been at a festival? A meeting place with others of their own kind?

It didn't matter. All that had mattered were the multiple coffins lying side by side in the middle of their solemn, staring gaze.

She was not able to think straight beyond mere functioning. Unfortunately, it was up to the older children to keep an eye out for danger. All Bella could manage was to keep the younger ones herded together. The baby she'd fist picked up squirmed in her arms, whimpering in discomfort. No doubt she clutched it too tightly in her overwhelmed horror.

 _I'm sorry, Bella. I liked your grandfather, I really did. But he would have wanted you protected. I did what he told me to do._

It was the only time her father had ever protected her. The only time she could actually remember, anyway. And it had cost her grandfather his life. True, Yaakov had been shielding her in their hiding spot in the deep roots of an ancient tree. But he'd also been too cowardly to leave her there and jump onto even one of the backs of the three men attacking him. Bella had been able to see most of it from her spot, where Yaakov had clamped a hand over her mouth to keep their hiding spot secret.

Adnah had tried to help, and he'd only been about nine...

Bella fought a little this time … but trying to protect the children she'd only really been assisting Tonio. Not much more. And the world had begun to rock under her feat, lazily swinging like a hammock from two trees. It was almost impossible to keep her balance. Her neck felt like a steel column, and even with how light the child she carried was, her arms strained painfully. Even so, she managed to pick up another child, struggling more this time because the little girl was a large toddler with a somehow damaged ankle.

There was death and blood everywhere. By the time she finally stood near Erik again, watching him pant from exertion and exhaustion while blood-soaked blades slipped from his fingertips to stain the ground red, Arabella was struggling just to maintain her feet. She could see Erik … but his voice seemed to be coming from many miles away. She wasn't even sure he spoke a language she understood. Everything was just _that_ incomprehensible.

She tried to open her mouth and tell Erik of the memories... of what she'd seen. She tried to explain about the monstrous savagery that had been committed on the gypsies.

 _My father protected me once._ She thought dully. _Adnah and I were friends. My grandfather was butchered by those monsters. This babies' mother was mutilated by those monsters. Humans … you were right Erik … they can be …_

"Monstrous..." she finally managed, unaware of how little actually left her mind. "Monsters … a ll monsters..."  
Erik pulled away from her then, and barked orders to the surrounding children. She looked down dully to realize the babies were gone. She tried to whip her head around in search of them, but agony ripped from her head, down her neck, and into the base of her spine.

What had happened? She couldn't remember everything. Only snippets.

Tonio stepped into view, and she realized he was holding his baby brother. She reached out with one hand, but he refused to relinquish the infant. Instead he took her by the arm and guided her towards the shack where she'd been living with Erik, pausing by the well behind the building. He gently sat her gently back onto the ground so that she leaned against the short rock structure before turning to assist the other children.

It was quiet, she realized finally. It wasn't clear how much time had gone by. But when she could finally blink away her horror and shock, she was surrounded. A middle-aged man somewhere around Erik's age was crouched in front of her with a hand on her shoulder. Deep chocolate brown eyes peered into hers in concern.

" _Mademoiselle_..."

She lifted her chin to acknowledge him, trying not to strain her stiff neck again. It was clear by the mans' tone of voice that he had been trying to talk to her for some time.

She blinked rapidly, straightening her shoulders until her body reminded her that this was an absolutely terrible idea.

"Yes?" she managed softly. She saw the man sigh as if in relief.

"You are staying here in this building?" he asked her. "Tonio said that we have permission to be inside?"  
Bella furrowed her brow in confusion.

"Do you?"

"Your husband said that we do."

Tonio came into view cradling his tiny sibling. Whatever blood had been on him was long gone. In fact, he looked very clean, with soaking wet hair that shined in pale moonlight.

Her eyes lifted carefully to the sky and she realized that the sun had entirely set. Then her head turned – even more carefully as her neck didn't want to cooperate – to find over a dozen gypsy people slouched around the well. Many were injured and either being tended to or tending to people hurt worse than they were. Almost everyone was using their own torn clothing as wash rags, tourniquets, and bandages.

"We need more bandages … and hot water." the older gypsy man told Arabella, making her eyes return to him. "Can you help us?"  
Bella straightened and tried to stand.

"Yes … of course... Where is my husband?" she wondered, trying to rise all the way to her feet without overbalancing into the well. Her eyes scanned the area desperately. "If he said that you can use our place … Didn't he tell you where things were?"

Not that there was much. Most of their many belongings were still in Paris. They were awaiting an address to be sent to in Trieste. In the meantime, Nadir had them stored safely away. Not everything could be brought with them, of course, but Erik hoped to eventually have his own furniture. Things like the piano had to be left behind entirely because dismantling and reassembling it would be too much of a hassle. But the bed and sofa and table and chairs were reasonably portable.

Still, they'd packed everything else up into large trunks that stood in a tall pile to one corner of a primitive shack already lacking floor space.

"He is not with us to tell us." the man explained. "After telling Tonio to bring you here, he walked off in that direction. He has yet to return."

Bella followed his finger in the direction of the village.

Had he chased more people away? Could he be fighting even now? Dead from being ganged up on? Or was he simply retrieving the horses and wagon? Bella's heart hammered at the distress not knowing gave her.

"I will show you where to get what you need." she offered. "Have the fires been put out?"

"Yes." Tonio assured. "No more danger from those. _Dadrus._.. what about mama?"

Bella realized that this older man was Tonio's father, and her heart wrenched painfully at the realization that he was now a single father. A widow. The poor man … But he had his tribe to help him through it. After such a tragedy, the group would pull together more tightly than ever before. They would rally together and help care for the children.

Normally, gypsies firmly believed in the old adage that it took a village to raise a child. They just had no village to settle down in – and no desire for one.

"I've covered her." the man stated as stoically as possible. "That will have to do for now. We will bury her with the other dead later."

"You will not have time."

Relief flooded Arabella as she raised her eyes to find Erik striding forward with the horse on a tether. He was out of breath and drenched with sweat and blood. He seemed to have been struggling with the horse for some time. The closer they got to the scene of the gypsy massacre, the more ill-at-ease the horse became. Horses were notoriously easy to spook around fire and the scent of blood. Bella wanted to help Erik; but she knew she didn't have the strength to control the animal.

Still, she stepped out of the supportive grip Tonio had held her arm in, and reached out to him.

He looked exhausted, and startled warily at her approach in a way she did not understand. He held himself stiffly as she tried to put her arms around him.

"You are a mess, _miri ves'tacha_." she pointed out.

Erik hesitated before putting one arm stiffly around her.

"Yes." he agreed simply, clearly not certain how to respond. Bella was confused by his reticence, and looked up into his leery eyes. He had replaced his mask, so there was no one screaming at the sight of him. But those around them had gone cautiously – almost eerily – quiet. She tried to read his expressive eyes, ignoring the discomfort around them as he peered right back down at her. "You are hurt."

"I'm all right."

Bella stepped back and tried to turn away, but Erik wouldn't completely relinquish his hold on her.

"Come inside. Let me look you over." he insisted.

She glanced down at herself, grimacing at her torn, disheveled, and bloody wedding gown. It had been so beautiful. Now it was worthy of nothing more than being just another rag.

"No. There are others hurt much worse-"

"-and they are getting the best help possible." Erik nearly growled. "I did what I could to save them, and I will continue to help if they accept it. But I will satisfy myself that _you_ are not badly hurt, first."

Sighing, Bella nodded and let him guide her towards their tiny shack. Tonio followed uncertainly behind, clearly wanting to find the materials Erik had promised them earlier. But he gave the boy a sour expression.

"There is material and food in the wagon." he snapped. "Use that. I will come out soon enough."

Inside, Erik lit the few small hurricane lamps and several candles they had been using as sparingly as possible. Then he turned and purposefully gripped her head between his hands, turning her this way and that to examine her wound and her eyes.

"Follow my finger." he commanded. "Don't move your head."

She obeyed, looking at him uncertainly.

"You're angry with me?" she whispered. She was startled just how thready her voice sounded. "Is it because of tonight? Our wedding night is ruined again?"

Erik sighed.

"Nothing is ruined." he promised. "We still have a future together. That is all that matters to me."

"Then … why are you so upset?" she asked.

"I am not." he promised, although he certainly didn't sound anything other than quietly enraged. "I'm exasperated, and tired, and aching. You put yourself in danger tonight for these _strangers_. You've gotten injured over it. You could have been killed. And … and I let Azrael loose … It is … a lot … a lot to handle all at once..."

Bella squinted at him in confusion; but this made her head ache and Erik sighed in frustration.

"You have a concussion." he stated. "You need to lie in here and rest. I'll do what I can to help the survivors. But we cannot take forever. We need to pack what we can and leave before the villagers come back."

"I can help." She didn't want to be left alone in the shack to rest. It didn't seem right to remain in a quiet dark house healing herself when so many others were at risk of infection or death. She could easily be out there helping in spite of her dizziness and lack of concentration. And she was starting to feel better. She certainly felt more _there_ than she had minutes before.

"No." Erik denied vehemently. "I will tie you down, first! Understand? You stay in here. Rest. If someone comes to the door and asks for material, give it to them. Take in anyone I send for the protection of the house. Otherwise I want you lying on that mattress and closing your eyes!"

"Erik, _why_ -" She understood his reasons for wishing to keep her safe, of taking care of her and protecting her. But his instant rage confused and almost frightened her.

"Bella, the beast is already out of its' cage tonight." He snapped. "Your _**monster**_ has shown itself once more, and it does not like going back to sleep quietly. Unless you want to face it further tonight, _listen to me_!"

Her jaw dropped open, and she gaped at him insensibly for a long moment.

"My monster?" she demanded. "Erik ...what? What is this about? I don't understand!"

Erik huffed an exasperated breath.

"Never mind." He ground out between clenched teeth. "I go to help those people gather and tend to their injured now – if they let me anywhere near them. We need to hurry. We cannot be here if those people return. They will bring more people, more guns, maybe dogs. We have got to get out of here."

His thoughts made her blood run cold, and she gripped his forearms almost desperately.

"Erik... You've done enough." she tried to soothe. "We can give them what they need … but if you really believe we are still in danger … I don't want to be here anymore."

"Nor do I." Erik admitted bitterly. "But if there is one thing I won't allow, it's for your tender conscience to be tormented by leaving these people still in disarray in a dangerous place. We will help them all get away from here before parting ways."

Taking a deep breath, Erik took a moment to stroke her cheek once, and kiss her forehead. When he spoke again, he voice was painfully tender.

"Please obey me, _Mira Ves'tacha_. Stay in here and rest. Take care of yourself so it is not yet another concern once we're out of this mess."

She didn't want to obey. She wanted to gather the things the gypsies needed, and help them to bandage and tend the injured. She wanted to go out there and help gather the bodies so that they could be properly buried. But … if Erik was right … if they villagers retiurned … there certainly wasn't time for a small mass grave.

So she obeyed him. While alone in the shack, she went through their belongings to find cloth that could be used for rags. Some of her older clothes from before Erik had insisted on a whole new wardrobe could be torn up. And of course she had plenty of _dicklo's_ she could sacrifice or the cause. She had to dig for them; but since no one came looking for them she didn't need to rush too fast. It was possible to keep their already carefully packed belongings neat and tidy. And she had time to finish preparing to leave. All that was left was to put everything in the wagon, and she would need help with that.

Raised voices caught her attention hours later, when she was by that point just sitting there starring off and half-dozing. The world was spinning a little and it felt like a swarm of flies was buzzing inside her head. Her neck and shoulders were in agony; but she refused to acknowledge it. There were no drugs to help her pain, so she would simply have to suffer through it.

Standing and working her way very carefully to the door, she looked outside to see Erik arguing heatedly with several of the gypsy males.

"...don't have time. We've wasted enough as it is!" Erik was trying to tell them.

"We cannot leave their souls to wander!" Tonio's father was one of the men Erik argued with, and he was stepping aggressively closer. "We will not do that! If you are done helping us, then that is up to you; but we cannot do that!"

"And what good will it do when your bodies lay unburied next to theirs because you were too stubborn to run when you could?" Erik demanded.

"Not all of our wounded can even be moved!" the man beside Tonio's father insisted. "What about _them_?"

"I am paid through to the end of this month for this building." Erik said, motioning to the shack and noticing Bella in that moment. He frowned briefly at her but continued the discussion. "You can hide them within. I am sure you can make the place seem deserted and give them no reason to find or harm the injured."

"Or it will be burned down over their heads!"

"I cannot tell you what to do with your injured." Erik admitted. It was physically obvious how hard he was trying to remain patient with these people. "There is no good option. But you need to get the others away from here ..."

He glanced briefly at his wife again.

"...especially the children. My wife risked her life for them. You cannot let them remain in such danger."

There was an uncomfortable silence. Bella already understood immediately what dilemma everyone was facing. Gypsies believed that if their dead were not buried properly that their souls could not find peace. They would wander eternally lost and unable to find their tribe or family. Usually they would try to bury them in a sanctified cemetery. At worst, they would bury them at the roadside so they could continue to travel as was the gypsy way. A lost gypsy soul was one of the greater sins they might commit against a dead family member.

She stepped forward quickly.

"What if we burned them?" she offered, raising her voice.

Burning a body was almost as bad as not burying them at all. But … it was at least a step better. Gypsies understood well enough the occasional necessity of burial by pyre. Particularly if it prevented the spread of disease. Bella could easily argue that this would help keep the bodies of their current dead safe from further insult by returning malicious villagers. But she probably wouldn't have to point that out.

Erik say that she was having trouble keeping on her feet, and hurried over to put an arm around her and help her remain standing.

"It takes over twenty-four hours to burn a body, _ma belle_." he explained. His voice was infitiely more patient with her than it had been with the others.

"But there is a lot of drift wood on the beach out there." /Bella argued, pointing towards the smell and sounds of ocean waves. They were distant, but could be reached rather easily by wagon. "Can't we make a raft for the bodies and light it? It could be far worse. And it would allow the bodies to not be found before they are properly ..."

She was being glowered at by the gypsies, so silenced herself.

"No." Erik said gently. "We could make the effort … put it on the beach. But a tide or strong wind could blow it out."

"The injured could stay on the beach." Tonio's father stated. "It is safer there than here where the villagers already know to find us. They could keep it burning... travel when they feel better."

Erik nodded.

"Then I will lend you the use of our wagon. We move quickly. I have to have my wife out of here by dawn."

He turned to gently draw Bella away from the group before they could argue further.

"We will never get the stench out of the wagon … thank God it will be in the open air and as soon as we get to the train station we can leave it behind. How do you feel?"

"Much better." Bella lied. "Well enough to travel, at least."

"I'll decide that when we're ready." Erik stated, absentmindedly caressing her loose hair once. "I just hope I can keep from strangling these superstitious fools before dawn..."

Bella hugged him tight, and he sighed heavily.

"I'm sorry … I know they are … sort of … your people..."

"I have no people now." Bella admitted. "I only have you, and that is enough for me. You should get cleaned up and change."

"After we move the bodies." Erik decided. "There is no point in washing and changing more than once."

He glanced down at her wedding gown.

"Do you need help with that?"

She glanced down at herself, blushing hotly.

"I … yes..." she admitted. "I just wish it were under different conditions."

Erik smirked softly.

"So do I. But there will be other times, _mira kom._ "

"I am sorry this ruined our wedding night."

"Nothing is ruined, _ma belle_. Absolutely nothing." Erik assured with a gentle, tired smile. "Nothing you decided tonight could have helped the outcome. It is better than cowering in fear under a wagon hidden in grass, yes? Come … I'll help you get out of those."

It should have been a seductively teasing sentence. But surrounded by gypsies as they were who might knock and intrude at any moment, it simply couldn't be. Erik didn't like feeling so close to other humans on a good day. When he was so on edge he certainly wasn't going to take a few moments of privacy as an opportunity to swiftly sleep with his wife. Especially not on their wedding night, which should have been slow and tender and a true celebration.

So he simply helped her out of the elaborate trap that was her torn wedding gown, and pulled out – much to her surprise – The Red Dress.

"This will be good for traveling just as it is for dancing." he told her, helping her quickly step into it and tighten the few simple laces. He seemed to be taking the tiny opportunities to touch her that he could. She noticed that … it seemed to soothe him. He was less agitated when they were in physical contact. "Besides, we don't have time to fumble through and find real traveling clothes. And I think you tore most of those dresses into rags."

Bella blushed hotly, making him chuckle and lean in to give her a lingering but simple kiss.

"I am willing to wager you had not expected the bad times to start so soon." he teased her. "You seem to be doing a little better. If you want to come out and help … just … take it easy. Please..."

So she did. She was happy to help however she could – which was mostly by helping with the children. Since several adults had died, leaving orphans or single-parented families, many adults had their arms full of little ones. Bella took them off of their hands for temporary relief whenever she could. And because she spoke their language, it was much easier for them to trust her.

"What happened to your husband?" one adolescent girl asked as she handed over a young cousin. "Why does he wear that mask?"

Bella smiled to hide her ill-ease.

"Does it matter? He has saved many lives tonight."

The girl was young enough for this to silence her questions. She seriously thought over Arabella's question before nodding.

As the dozen or so bodies were carried to a by-then empty wagon, Bella couldn't help but cry at the sight of mutilated flesh covered in mud and dried blood. It was heartbreaking to endure the sight of such cruelty and hatred once again.

Why was the world so hateful? So cruel?

She clutched tightly to the baby boy she'd been handed, careful not to disturb the four-month-old's slumber. It, at least, had not been harmed or traumatized as so many others certainly had.

Erik finally came to find her wearing fresh traveling clothes, smelling like he'd washed at the well and looking twice his age even through the mask.

"I am taking them down to the ocean." he stated. "Do you want to come?"

"No..."

Bella dropped her eyes to the ground, causing Erik to pause and place a hand gently on her cheek – thumb rubbing at the tracks of old tears.

"Are you in pain?" he asked worriedly.

"Yes... but that's not it." she admitted, looking slowly to the wagon of bodies. "I remember, Erik. I remember … my grandfather died because of something like this. Adnah and my father both actually tried to help him … and me … I was protected once … It feels like I'm there again …"

Erik sighed heavily.

"Oh, ma belle … I'm sorry. I understand … But we'll be gone from here in another hour or two. And then, hopefully, we'll be able to leave the pain behind... Yes?"

She struggled to smile.

"Yes..."

"Stay somewhere safe. Most of the older children will come along. Keep an eye out. And if you see anyone coming-"

"-I will scream like a banshee." she promised. "You are not the only one who can spread horror stories when you set your mind to it."

Erik laughed openly at that.

"I have no doubt, _mira kom_. None at all."

"Erik... What about the _other_ bodies?"

"We've placed them in the grove." he said indifferently. "Not hard to find them if their people come looking. But we would not want to mix them with the Romani, would we?"

"No." This time Bella spit to the side as she'd seen her grandmother do many times. " _Mullo_ bastards."

"Yes." Erik agreed. "Yes, indeed."

* * *

 **A/N:** Transitions are hard sometimes... Hope you've all liked this so far. I will probably make a nasty jump cut to Trieste. So please be prepared.


	35. Chapter 35

_**A/N: Just an itty bitty chapter to let you all know I HAVEN'T FORGOTTEN YOU EXIST AND ARE WAITING. And to transition, of course. I've been having so much trouble with these last chapters!**_

They escaped the seaside town without further incident; but with their wagon full of young children and some injured but ambulatory adults, Erik was very quickly put on edge. The children were frightened and traumatized, which meant a great deal of sobbing, whining, throwing tantrums, and being too restless to travel in what one would call an exactly safe physical state. The older gypsies did not help. They all knew where they were going; yet the trauma of the night had left many of them not thinking clearly. Erik knew how to get where Bella had told him to go but the adults couldn't seem to agree on where that was or how to best get there.

By the end of that first endless day, Erik quickly helped Bella set up a shelter for everyone to share, and then wandered off to bathe in a nearby river and have space to himself. Arabella joined him after an hour, finding him settled on a not-quite dry embankment between the exposed roots of an ancient tree.

"Hey..." She made her way carefully along the uneven and cluttered ground until she was close enough for him to offer an assisting hand, and settled against him comfortably as he pulled her snugly into his arms. She rubbed her cheek almost like a cat against his shoulder as she tried to find a comfortable position. "Feeling any better?"

"I should be asking _you_ that." he replied bitterly. " _You_ are the one that was injured. _Are_ you feeling any better?"

"Much better." She promised. "You aren't on the verge of killing them now, are you?"

Erik gave a short bark of laughter. It was a humorless sound, although he was amused at her observations and ability to understand him.

"I think I can put enough space between us to avoid such a calamity now. Bella … we had to leave so much behind to bring these people with us... We will enter Trieste practically impoverished!"

Bella frowned slightly.

"We have both been worse off." she pointed out.

"Yes, but I was nowhere near so old. Living rough … in the streets … I am not looking forward to it. But I have thought of a job I might find us immediately. To hold us over until we can manage our other plans..."

She lifted her face to stare into his eyes. She wished they weren't out in the open so he would remove the black mask he wore for the trip.

"What?"

"I could be a translator. Trieste is a port city. There are always translators need for shipments, immigrants, paperwork … I speak over eight languages. Surely I could find a position."

"But what about the architecture? The hospital?"

"We can manage." Erik assured. "I have something in mind. I've contacted people already. But I … I have this feeling we could use the income. I could even give you permission to work, if you think there is anything you might do... I just do not want to make you work, or have you living in some terrible slum with no warmth. I won't let you starve."

"Erik, we both know perfectly well that you would rather resort to cannibalism than let anyone you care about starve." Bella murmured. "I certainly hope it doesn't come anywhere near close to that … but I am not worried about starving. Besides... we'll have each other to keep each other warm."

With that, she leaned up and softly kissed him. Erik grasped her shoulder tenderly, either holding her still or trying to pull her just a little closer. When she shifted to one knee and deepend the kiss, he jerked his head back to look around anxiously.

"Bella … we are out in the open..." he scolded reluctantly. "I know you are a gyspy and being under the stars must hardly..."

He trailed off, and Bella guessed he was blushing tomato red beneath his mask.

"I would make love to you under the stars, yes." Bella confessed with an amused smirk. "But right now I just want to kiss you. Let us forget what we just went through today. Let's celebrate each other just a little."

Erik looked down at her a little skeptically, and she could read the guilt in his gaze. He obviously didn't want to turn her down. But his fear of being seen by the nearby gypsies or some other random party was simply too strong. It overrode whatever need she'd just stirred in him.

"When we reach Trieste, I may not leave our flat for a week." he admitted with a shuddering chuckle. "But out here-"

Bella silenced him with a fresh kiss.

"I understand." she finally assured when she broke it. By then Erik had one arm around the small of her back and the other grasping her shoulder as if he thought she was going to run away. "But just … be _here_ , Erik. Just … _be_ here..."

Erik cracked a smile, stroking back her hair.

"I will gladly be anywhere you are."

And, this time, he was the one to initiate the kiss.


End file.
